Of Secrets and Schemes
by Alaina Locksley
Summary: The fringe media strikes, a secret surfaces, and Egypt wants its temple back. It's all in a day's work for the Secretary of State. What happens when someone targets her and her family?
1. Episode 1

**Disclaimer: **No one but the wonderful creators of Madam Secretary own it. I'm just borrowing it for a quick plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. Also, please note, I've done the least amount of research possible to make the plot work for me. The facts have a smidge of truth in them, but read them with a grain of salt.

** A/N: **I just updated this chapter to fix some formatting changes that occurred when I uploaded it. None of the content has changed. Thanks everyone!

** Summary:** The fringe media strikes, a secret surfaces, and Egypt wants its temple back. It's all in a day's work for the Secretary of State.

**Of Secrets and Schemes**

**Episode 1:**

Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord stared at the man in front of her. He was almost ready. She could see the sweat coating his forehead. His heel had been tapping the same pattern for the past two minutes. She let silence consume the room. Their breathing and his jittery leg were her only concessions.

Thirty seconds passed. She watched the hand on the clock behind him out of the corner of her eye. She knew from experience it wouldn't be much longer. Maybe ten more seconds… twenty. It didn't matter. She had at least an hour before her next meeting, an unusual luxury.

There. She had to stop herself from smiling as he glanced away rubbing a sweaty palm on his knee. She tilted her head, a silent invitation to speak.

"Madam Secretary, I didn't think-"

"Don," she interrupted, "Let me stop you right there. You're absolutely right, you didn't think, and now we have a situation. There are hundreds of lives on the line and that's on you… But," she stood and walked around her desk sitting on the edge in front of him, "now you have a chance to make it right. You're in charge of the narrative," She leaned in conspiratorially. "You can change it."

She watched as realization hit him. He looked like he'd been sucker punched. "How?" He grimaced. He was hers, and he knew it.

She leaned back with a thoughtful look. "Well, you painted me as the villain. How do you feel about playing the hero?"

Even hinting that this man could be anything close to a hero made her feel dirty, but she needed him to play along. Pushing too hard might make him shut down. If that meant she had to play to his ego, then so be it.

"You want me to give you names." He looked down, defeated.

"It would be a good start."

"I'll be ruined."

"I could argue printing articles without facts already did that, but that would be petty." She shrugged. "Your choice."

He couldn't meet her eyes. His stare locked on his hands folded in his lap. Fifteen seconds passed. With a sigh he lifted his head and grabbed for the paper and pen she handed him when he walked in. He had scoffed when she told him what he would write with them. She smiled as her prediction came true.

Three names.

Three names of three people who wanted to see her ruined. The worst part was knowing that it wasn't personal. They just wanted to eliminate the competition. They didn't think of her as a person. She was an obstacle, and obstacles could be broken by any means necessary. Truth and facts were afterthoughts, for the weak.

When she took this job, it was a family decision. She wondered if they would vote the same way now, knowing what was coming.

/*/*/*/

She stood in front of the door to her house, steeling herself against the conversation she knew would come. She'd go inside. Her beautiful children would greet her, her incredible husband would kiss her, and they would all be happy… For a moment. Then she would shatter them.

Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord looked down as she placed her hand on the door handle. She could stare down powerful dignitaries and make them promise her the moon; she could negotiate global superpowers out of disastrous wars, but she couldn't face her own family. Not with this.

She closed her eyes and took a breath. Before she could talk herself out of it, she went inside.

Henry was waiting for her to get home. He'd seen the story. Of course, he'd seen the story. It was everywhere.

"Is it true?" He asked. It wasn't quite the happy greeting she had expected. Maybe it would be better this way. She wouldn't have to do the shattering. The fear inducing, conspiracy spinning blog did it for her.

"Partly," she said meeting his eyes.

"That's why you quit," he said.

"That's why I quit," she agreed. "If I couldn't change it, I couldn't be a part of it."

His face softened and she took it as a sign to lean into the hug she'd needed all day. He didn't protest, holding her in the same loving embrace he always offered. At least that would stay the same.

"Do the kids know?" she mumbled into his neck. He stiffened.

"What?" She pulled back to get a look at his face. It was thick with tension. That couldn't be good.

/*/*/*/

Henry always knew there were things about her time in Bagdad that she had never told him. She came home and went straight to work. She spent months obsessing over a memo, a classified memo she wasn't allowed to tell him about. It wasn't hard to work out what had happened. She did her research at home, and it was hard to overlook the articles about the ineffectiveness of torture.

Yes, Henry guessed what had happened during her time in Bagdad. When she turned down the station chief job Dalton had offered, he thought it would all be behind them. He would never have to confront that dark part of his wife, the part that went against every moral fiber of his being. He was wrong.

Now, his kids would have to confront that part of their mother too, all while the world watched. He was angry with Elizabeth. He was angry at the irresponsible blog that spun an evil tale about an evil Secretary of State, embellishing an already appalling story with unsubstantiated facts. Mostly, he was angry with himself for not knowing how to deal with that version of his wife.

"They found out at school," he said, "Jason was in another fight. He and Ali don't believe it's true. Stevie hasn't corrected them yet. She knew you would want to tell them yourself." He looked down and away before meeting her gaze again. She looked horrible. He wished as much as she did that she could skip that conversation.

Elizabeth squeezed his shoulder and started into the other room where she heard the kids. Henry grabbed her hand and followed. They were a unit, and they would face this together.

/*/*/*/

Overall, Jason and Ali took it better than Stevie had, not that the bar was set very high. They were still in the house at least, locked in their rooms and refusing to be in the same room as Elizabeth, but still…

_ "I defended you!" Jason said sounding betrayed._

_ "I know," Elizabeth replied._

_ "What am I supposed to say now? When they're saying you're a monster and calling you a…" he stopped himself before saying what she was sure wouldn't be flattering to her character, "What am I supposed to say?" He glared at her._

_ She wasn't positive, but it sounded like he was quoting someone, probably the person responsible for the bruises springing up around his face. His anger shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. It cut straight through her heart because he was right. What was he supposed to say? How do you defend torture? You can't._

_ "Don't talk to your mother like that," Henry, bless him, spoke up._

_ "Why not?" Alison's voice was quiet but rang with clarity._

_ The room was quiet, shocked. As surprising as Jason's outburst was, it was expected. Alison's quiet fury was not. During her mother's explanation she sat unfocused listening to every word, every excuse. It seemed she was done listening._

_ Elizabeth saw the words on her daughter's face before they came. They were going to hurt._

_ "How could you?" That was the question wasn't it. How could she? She could say they were under pressure. People were going to die if they didn't get answers. Children, just like her, were mangled in explosions and littered the streets. She could say a lot, but she and Henry raised them better than that. They would see through her, know that torture rarely produced the answers needed. She taught them so they wouldn't repeat her mistakes._

_ She hadn't noticed when Alison fled the room. Her words stinging Elizabeth into a stunned stupor. Jason followed soon after. The lingering silence was suffocating._

_ Stevie broke it bringing Elizabeth back._

_ "I'll go talk to them," she said, her voice calm and compassionate. She caught her mother's eye, "They'll come around. I did."_

How Elizabeth hoped that would be true. In the end, it all came back to the same problem. They shouldn't have to.

/*/*/*/

Daisy sat monitoring the buzz circulating about her boss. She could feel a headache building. A drill burrowed into her temple in time with every new tweet that appeared. Who was coming up with these hashtags anyway? #SecretaryofTorture was just lazy. At least whoever came up with #PsychopathSecretary tried for some alliteration.

Shaking her head she glanced up at Matt. He was pounding away at his keyboard like it owed him something.

"Could you not?" She asked him as each pound added to the throbbing in her head.

He glared at her across the room. "You want to write a statement denying without denying that classified torture may or may not have occurred ordered by our esteemed Secretary of State?"

She started to bite back but sighed instead. It wasn't worth it. He knew as much as she did that whatever defense they came up with would add fuel to the fire.

She didn't just like her job, she was good at it. This was the first time she felt defeated, and she didn't have any fight left.

Daisy knew she needed to stop moping, the Secretary would arrive at the top of the hour, but dang it, she couldn't. Elizabeth McCord spent an entire career in scholarship writing essay after essay about the horrors and immorality of torture, and now it came out that she had ordered a PoW's torture. Sure, some of the facts were wrong, but what was she supposed to say?

"No, the Secretary did not order the torture, rape, and murder of Sara Amari. She ordered the waterboarding of a classified Iraqi activist." Yeah, Daisy, that would play well.

She couldn't help thinking that the Secretary was the epitome of hypocrisy, and if she thought it, the rest of the world did, too. She turned back to her computer and watched the tweets continue to flood in. Something needed to happen and soon or they'd all be looking for new jobs.

/*/*/*/

The conference room was unusually subdued as they gathered for the staff meeting. The usual box of donuts stood untouched as everyone stared off, lost in their own thoughts, the chatter that normally filled the room conspicuously missing.

Nadine sat in her normal spot waiting for the Secretary to arrive with everyone else.

Not only would the team need to strategize on how to handle the latest press releases, but it seemed like everyone from Myanmar to Russia wanted to take advantage of the Secretary's weakened position. She and Jay had gamed out the petty offenses various countries had been committing and found solutions for most of them, but there was one that they would need to bring to her attention. She wasn't looking forward to it.

Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord swept into the room like any other day, seemingly oblivious to her staff's mood.

"Where are we?" She asked.

"You're booked for a round with the morning talk shows starting tomorrow," Daisy said.

"I'll add some prep into your schedule ma'am," Nadine added.

"Fine, is there anything of national importance that's not about my past mistakes?"

A scoff came from Elizabeth's left. She turned, eyebrow raised, "Yes Matt?"

His face went from surly to terror faster than a dog for scraps. Apparently, he hadn't meant for anyone to hear. He answered anyway.

"Is that what we're calling it?" He tried for flippant, but she could hear the fear in his voice, "Past mistakes?"

"Yes," Blake said before she could answer, "It was in the past, and it was a mistake, or is that not descriptive enough for the speechwriter."

"She had someone tortured, Blake," Matt turned on him, "I think it was a bit more than a 'mistake'."

Blake opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. She couldn't afford to let it get out of control or things would be said that they couldn't take back.

"Are you two done?" They looked back at her.

"Thank you, Blake, but Matt's right. Waterboarding, beatings, torture. Prisoners suffered because I ordered it," she turned to the rest of the room, "You all need to decide right now whether you can work for someone responsible for something like that or not. I won't blame anyone for walking out the door right now. I'll be sure to give you a good letter of recommendation." She paused giving people the chance to get up and leave. No one moved.

"Good," she nodded. She'd be lying if she didn't admit she was worried they'd all abandon her. Of course, she'd never tell them that.

"Now, is there anything else?"

"Uh, yes ma'am," Nadine started, "It's about Egypt."

"Egypt?" She asked, wondering what in the world Egypt wanted.

"Yes, ma'am. They requested the return of their sacred national treasure The Temple of Dendur. Their words, ma'am."

"They want us to return a temple? Like, the entire structure?" She asked exasperated at the same time Blake asked, "As in, the one at The Met?"

"Yes, ma'am," Nadine answered as Jay nodded at Blake.

"But that was a gift." Elizabeth said completely caught off guard, "Where would they even put it? The original location was flooded."

"I'm not sure ma'am, but they're citing cultural appropriation to get it back. It won't work of course, but with the current… situation," she stumbled over the word, "they could cause a stir in the press. It seems as though they're using it to get a meeting with you. They've been trying to get on the books for a few months. I guess they decided they were done waiting."

"Effective strategy," the Secretary grumbled, "All right, get me a binder on the current aid packages for that area and some incentives. Whether they can actually take the temple back or not, I'd like to be prepared."

"Already done ma'am," Jay said passing her the binder.

/*/*/*/

"Elizabeth, we have a problem." Russell Jackson barreled into her office like a hog through underbrush.

"Russell Jackson, ma'am." Blake trailed in looking harassed. She really should see about getting him a raise.

"Thank you, Blake," she said sending him a quick smile before turning back to the man standing impatiently in front of her desk. "Russell?"

He watched Blake leave and close the door before turning back to her.

"It's the leak," he said, leaning on her desk as he grabbed some of her fries. Why did everyone always think her food was open season? "We had Ephraim do a sweep and it came up empty."

"Not a problem," she said. He looked surprised. Honestly, sometimes she thought he forgot she worked for the CIA, ironic under the circumstances. She grabbed the list of names out of her top drawer and handed it over.

"I got these from everyone's favorite reporter, and I use that term loosely. They may or may not be the leak, but they're responsible for it."

"Good," he said as he scanned the names, distracted. He glanced back at her and said firmer, "Good, I'll run these by Ephraim."

He stood up about to leave.

"And Bess," he said snagging a couple more fries, "Don't let Egypt take our temple."

He left as quickly as he came.

/*/*/*/

Daisy and Matt stood at Blake's desk throwing question after question at him. How was he supposed to know the full story? Just because he was with the Secretary the most didn't mean she confided in him, especially about classified information. Sure, there was the one time he spied on Nadine for her, but that was it.

"Look," he said interrupting Daisy before she could ask the same reworded question for the tenth time, "we'll know when we need to know."

"That's not good enough, Blake. I have to answer press questions now, and she just admitted she ordered and I quote 'waterboarding, beatings, and torture' for _prisoners; _as in plural, more than one, Blake. What am I supposed to do with that?" … And there was number ten.

"Oh, I don't know, your job?" He knew he was being a little unfair, but he was done caring. They all had hard jobs, and they were distracting him from his, "It happened a long time ago, Daisy. Can you imagine the Secretary we know ordering something like that today?"

"No," She said, pursing her lips like she tasted something sour. "No, she wouldn't."

"So what does Russell want?" Matt asked still digging for information.

"I couldn't begin to imagine," Blake said as he turned his full attention to the email he was trying to draft. He resigned himself to fielding their questions for the foreseeable future. He would have to multitask. Maybe they would get the hint and leave… He doubted it.

Before Matt and Daisy could start their next round, Russell swept out of the Secretary's office heading straight for the elevator munching on some fries as he passed. Blake made a mental note to bring a snack around for later. If the Secretary had fries left then she probably didn't get a chance to eat much of her lunch. She always finished them first.

Taking advantage of the distraction, he stood and headed for the Secretary's office leaving Matt and Daisy at his desk.

"Ma'am," he said as he stepped inside, "Your meeting with the Egyptian ambassador is in ten minutes."

She was standing staring out the window behind her desk. Sure enough her burger and fries sat almost untouched.

"Thank you, Blake," She said without turning around. She sounded troubled and closed off. No, the Secretary didn't confide in him, but as he stepped back out of her office he couldn't help hoping that she confided in someone.

/*/*/*/

Jason McCord sat outside the principal's office for the second time in two days. Maybe, he would get lucky, and they would finally expel him. Anything would be better than listening to the stupid comments that his classmates kept making about his mom.

His dad was in the office trying to talk Principle Walters into a more lenient punishment. He honestly didn't know what would happen. His dad was persuasive but Principle Walters was strict on fighting. Still, his money was on his dad.

The door opened.

"Let's go," his dad said looking stern. Jason couldn't get a read on what happened. He grabbed his book bag and followed his dad out of the building.

The drive home was tense. Neither of them spoke. Jason desperately wanted to know when he would have to go back, if at all, but he couldn't find the courage to ask.

It was odd. He had seen his father mad before. More often than not, he was the cause for it; a quiet fury that burned, tightly controlled when he was dealing with Jason and his siblings when they were in trouble. That's what Jason was expecting. This was different. His dad didn't seem angry. He seemed… resigned. It was putting Jason on edge.

They pulled onto their road, and he couldn't take it anymore.

"What's going to happen?" He asked.

His dad's eyes cut over to him, snapping back to the road a second later. His question could have been taken a bunch of different ways. Even he wasn't sure which one he meant.

"You're suspended for a week. We'll discuss it when your mother gets home. For now, you're grounded."

"If she ever comes home," he said under his breath. His dad's stare bore holes in him as he put the car in park in front of their house.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?" Jason said. He hated the way his voice always broke when he made a point, "She's never home! We have to keep living our lives, deal with everything everyone says about her, meanwhile Queen Elizabeth's never here!"

There it was. The anger was back. It weirdly made Jason feel more sure of himself. His dad's anger was familiar. He knew how to handle it.

"Jason!" His dad started. He knew he was about to get a lecture about using the nickname his aunts and uncles used for his mom. Before it could start, he rushed out of the car, into the house, and up to his room. If his dad wanted to yell at him, he could do it there.

/*/*/*/

"_Who planned the ambush?" Elizabeth asked for the hundredth time. Like every other time, the activist stared blankly at the wall behind her. The translator repeated the question, but they both knew the prisoner understood English. Just like they both knew Elizabeth could speak Arabic._

_ Her superiors were getting impatient. There was another attack today. A suicide bomber in the form of a ten-year-old boy on his way to school blew up a check-point. Two dead. Three injured. Everyone on base was out for blood and the prisoner was the wife of the man who planned it. _

_ "Come on!" She said as she slammed a picture on the metal table in front of her. She didn't have to fake the urgency in her voice. The prisoner gave a small jump but continued to stare at the wall. _

_ They picked him up in a raid with ten future jihadis, not one of them over the age of twelve. She was in charge of taking care of them until their time came and ensuring they didn't lose their nerve when it did. Intelligence indicated that at least four suicide bombers had come out of that particular operation already. Unfortunately, her husband had escaped and reports confirmed he was able to smuggle some of the kids out with him, including the bomber from earlier that day._

_ "Do you not care that children are fighting your war? This is Yusuf. You remember him don't you?" Elizabeth raised the picture into her line of sight, forcing her to see the mangled boy's body from the bombing. There wasn't much left of him, "You took care of him, didn't you? You told him stories about how his sacrifice would be glorious, made sure he wouldn't change his mind about blowing himself up. Does this look glorious to you?"_

_ The prisoner hadn't spoken a word since being brought in three days ago, and it didn't look like it would change any time soon. Elizabeth was running out of reasons to delay enhanced interrogation. It was horrible, but at this point she wasn't sure she wanted to. Who talked kids into suicide and murder?_

_ The prisoner glared at her silently. Colonel Johnson entered the room and motioned for Elizabeth to join him outside._

_ He started as soon as the door closed behind her, "We have intelligence that their next target is the school, maybe as soon as tomorrow," he let the information sink in. The school had at least fifty students per day, some of them children to the local political leaders. Blowing it would make an already unstable situation worse, not to mention the heartlessness of it all, "Without names we can't do anything. She knows who he'll be sending, and this isn't working," he said giving her a look. She hated that look._

_ She hesitated. He saw. "Ma'am, we're out of time. We need answers now."_

_ "Can we secure the school, or postpone classes until we get her to talk?" She asked. _

_ "The intelligence is classified. We can't shut down the school without giving them a reason, and we don't have a viable one we can share. Besides, they'd just pick a different target. Stopping them at the school is our best bet to taking down the entire cell."_

_ She took a breath steeling herself. She released it focusing on the kids being threatened._

_ "Do it." _

_ It wasn't the first time she had ordered an enhanced interrogation. It wouldn't be the last._

Elizabeth gazed out the window in her office trying to pull her thoughts together. She needed to focus. The Egyptian ambassador would be there any minute and she needed to be prepared.

Turning, she went back to the binder Jay put together.

She was re-reading a section on military aid when Blake walked in.

"Ma'am, Ambassador Mahmoud," he announced.

"Ambassador," she greeted with a smile shaking his hand, "It's good to see you again. Can Blake get you anything?"

Mahmoud smiled back. That was a good sign at least.

"No thank you, Madam Secretary."

She made her way back behind her desk and motioned for Mahmoud to take a seat. They were opponents in a cleverly disguised dance, and her desk gave her the figurative higher ground.

"Now," she said placing her hands in front of her, a subtle indication that she had nothing to hide, "I've been informed you've asked for one of your gifts back."

"Madam Secretary, surely you wouldn't suffer my nation to watch as the United States continues to parade one of our greatest treasures around in a, how does the phrase go, dog and pony show?" Mahmoud sat back in his chair relaxing while putting her on the defensive. He was trying to prove that sitting across from her like a child in the principle's office wasn't making him nervous.

She smiled. The American phrase was a nice touch.

"I've found that internationally acclaimed museums such as The Met lack both dogs and ponies. I am curious, though. Where are you planning on putting it?"

He looked surprised. Good, she wanted to keep him off-kilter. If he was uncomfortable, he might let slip what he really wanted. Of course, she already had a good idea, but it was always better to hear it from the other side of the table first. It would give her a chance to counter and avoid giving too much away.

"I'm afraid, I don't understand," he said trying to buy himself time to come up with an answer.

"I mean where would we deliver the temple if we were inclined to return your gift. As I understand it, the original site was flooded along with a number of other sites that had their national treasures relocated. I believe our help in that venture was the original reason for your country's generosity," she replied, reminding him exactly how the temple came to reside in the States.

"Generosity that has become one of the most popular attractions at your 'internationally acclaimed museum,'" he said sidestepping her question and intentionally switching the word 'exhibit' for 'attraction'. He wanted her to know exactly what angle he would be using in the press, "I wonder what would happen to the museum's, not to mention your country's, reputation if you were to lose it for such… controversial reasons."

Elizabeth let her smile slip, giving him the impression that he had the upper hand. Honestly, she didn't have to put much effort into the act. It was a risk, but if she stayed quiet he might start listing demands… or he would force her to break the silence making his upper hand a reality.

Three beats later, he started listing.

"Of course, if the United States were to increase their military aid package, we might be inclined to overlook your museum's indiscretions," he said, distancing her from the concessions she would have to make while placing Egypt's imagined slights directly on her shoulders.

Sighing, she took her glasses off, giving him a sense of victory. He would pick up on it and feel more comfortable, increasing her chances of getting more information. "What did you have in mind?"

"There are some F-16's that we've been waiting on for a while. I think it's about time they make their way home, don't you?" He said, "Then, of course, there's the matter of monetary aid."

"There is?"

"We'd like it increased."

"Increased? You're already our second-highest military aid recipient," Elizabeth countered, "It would require congressional approval to increase funds. They'd never go for it. We could throw in some Harpoon missiles instead."

"That's not enough for me to take back to my superiors," he said. She knew it wouldn't be, but she needed him to accept her next stipulation. He needed to think she was giving away more than she wanted to for him to agree. She couldn't let them get away with holding her over a barrel when she was down. They would need to give away something, too.

"Fine, what if we threw in some tank kits for good measure?" She paused just long enough to see his eyes light up, "In exchange, we will no longer accept cash-flow financing for future projects."

Mahmoud froze. He realized he'd been played, but he was past the point of no return. Backing out wasn't an option.

"That's unacceptable -"

"No, holding a museum exhibit hostage is unacceptable," she interrupted. It was time for the end game. She had other meetings to get to. "Ambassador, you came in here to strong-arm the Secretary of State of the United States. That's not the action of a friend. A friend who consequently will no longer enjoy the perk of signing for future military projects on credit. We will review them on a case by case basis from now on."

She stood and moved toward the ambassador's chair holding out her hand for him to shake, "Thank you so much for coming by." Flustered, he grabbed her hand on instinct and let her guide him out of the office, "My office will be in touch. I look forward to seeing the signed agreement."

She closed the door before he could reply, leaving the ambassador to wonder exactly what just happened.

/*/*/*/

"Hey Dork," Stevie said as she poked her head into his room. He heard Alison grumble something about leaving him to wallow in his room. Seriously, what did a guy need to do to get a little privacy? She could have at least knocked, "Dinner is ready, and Mom's home."

"I'm not hungry, and good for her." He would have been convincing if his stomach hadn't chosen that moment to start rumbling. Stevie gave him that look she always did when he was being stubborn, the patented I know you're full of it, you know you're full of it, so let's just skip to the end where you do what I want. He hated that look.

"Dude, come on. It's just a meal. You have to eat sometime," she said as she opened his door the rest of the way and took a step into his room. He could see Alison leaning on the wall just outside.

"No, she's a hypocrite, Stevie! I'm not eating with her."

"What about the rest of us then, huh? You know Mom's not the only one you're avoiding if you skip family meals." She went straight for the guilt trip. He rolled his eyes.

"How can you be so okay with all of this?" Alison asked from the hallway.

"What?" Stevie asked, caught off guard.

"Ever since Mom came clean, you've been all calm. You're usually the first one to call her out, especially with something like this. Mom tortured someone Stevie, after telling us our whole lives that it's the worst kind of decision."

"She's right," Jason added, "You're usually first to man the barricades, after I build them of course."

Stevie stared at them through narrowed eyes, "Don't you think that maybe Mom taught us torture was wrong because she understood it a little too well? She decided to admit she made mistakes and tried to change things. That's not hypocrisy. That's progress."

She turned to walk out the door. "Now, I'm going down to eat dinner with the parents that have always supported me no matter how bad I've screwed up. You can come if you want."

Jason and Alison glanced at each other as she walked out the door. Jason's stomach growled again. Shrugging, they followed their big sister downstairs, just because they were eating at the same table as their mom didn't mean they would have to talk to her.

/*/*/*/

"Did you see them?" Elizabeth asked as she took the pillows off her side of the bed. Her enthusiasm seemed a bit unwarranted given the circumstances, but anything that made his wife smile was good in his book. "They came down for dinner."

She snuggled under the covers with a satisfied sigh, "They've graduated up to being in the same room as me."

Henry snuck a glance at her as he followed her into bed, "Babe, they didn't say a word to you all night. I'm going to have a talk with them tomorrow."

"No, let them come to terms with it. If we push too hard too soon, they'll turn into those kids that grow up in and out of jail and blame their parents for everything."

"In and out of jail? Don't you think that's a little unlikely?"

"I don't know. Stevie dated a heroin addict." Elizabeth said staring at the ceiling unsure.

"Good point." Henry paused and turned his head to look at her, "Maybe I'll give it another day."

"Another day would be good," she replied with a distracted nod.

"About Jason," he started, "I was thinking no tv or video games until he's back in school."

"That's fine," she answered still staring a hole through the ceiling.

"Babe, what's wrong?"

She turned her head and searched his eyes. She was trying to decide whether she should tell him or not.

"Ephraim ID'ed the leakers," she said. His breath caught in his throat.

"How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad." She looked back at the ceiling, "One of them visited Juliet."

His eyes widened in surprise. "They have that kind of clearance?"

She nodded. "It was the last thing they did before they fell off the grid. I watched the video. It doesn't look like they got anything they could use from her. Ephraim said there's evidence to suggest they have unofficial ties to a Senator… I just wish I knew what they were planning."

She snuggled into his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her.

"Whatever it is, we'll face it together," he said placing a kiss on her temple.

/*/*/*/

"Well, that was unpleasant," Elizabeth said as she took her mic off after her third and final interview that day.

"All things considered, you did well," Daisy assured her. "With the way things are going this should fade out in the next couple of news cycles."

She turned to Daisy surprised.

Noticing her sudden interest Daisy shrugged, "Attention spans are short these days."

Her eyebrows rose. While that may be true, something told her a potential presidential candidate torturing POWs normally wouldn't just disappear in a couple of news cycles.

Sighing, Daisy offered up the real reason, "Senator Mathews was caught with a prostitute last night… A male prostitute. Right now, you're sharing air time with him. I've already canceled your interviews for the rest of the week."

"Huh, all right then." She turned, heading for the door, "I guess they're right when they say things always look better in the morning."

"It's certainly true about today," Daisy said under her breath as she followed the Secretary out.

/*/*/*/

"Two days?" He roared, "She's only in the news for two days!"

The man slammed his car door, demanding the attention of the others standing in the abandoned clearing. It was far enough away from civilization to provide privacy but not so far that his four-door sedan couldn't follow the dirt path to their meeting point.

"The election is twelve months away. We need her reputation destroyed not damaged. She can come back from this," He glared at the three faces in front of him.

"All due respect, sir," the man standing in front began, the scar across his forehead creasing as he raised an eyebrow, "The story may be dead, but that wasn't the only option we provided."

"No, absolutely not. Out of the question." He objected outright.

"Sir, the only way to keep her out of the race permanently would be to have her to announce it publicly. Option B would achieve that," the female continued for the group. He could always detect a hint of spite when she spoke of the Secretary. It left him wondering. Then again, they were in the CIA at the same time, maybe she knew her personally. He knew from his own experiences that the Secretary wasn't the greatest person to work with. Either way, it worked for him.

"I understand that, but option B is out of scope and out of budget," He hoped they would think he was dismissing it out of monetary concerns rather than the truth, he really didn't have the stomach for it, "As I said before, out of the question."

"I thought you wanted to be president," the third interjected smoothly. He stepped in front of Scar Head offering a smile full of promises, "Think of what you could do as president, all of the good you could do for the country. She would continue what Dalton started, deals with Iran, deals with the Taliban. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not," he spat, "but this… I wouldn't be able to live with it," he finished in a whisper.

"And when another 9/11 happens because of the appeasement that comes from her presidency, will you be able to live with yourself then?" Scar Head cut in.

He looked down, thinking.

"Sir," the man in front spoke gently, "no one will get hurt. It's just to scare her out of running. Once she takes herself out of the race, everything will go back to normal. There won't be any real contenders left. You'll win the election and the country will finally be safe."

He looked up, eyeing his three companions. Steeling himself, he gave the order.

"Do it."

He turned on the spot, got in his car, and drove away. There would be no changing his mind. He would be president.

/*/*/*/

"How bad is it?" Russell Jackson swept into the conference room cutting Matt off mid-rant.

Blake rose halfway from his seat in surprise throwing out a quick, flustered, "Russell Jackson, Ma'am".

"Tell me how bad it was," Russell insisted.

"Hello Russell," Elizabeth smiled waiting a beat just to annoy him, "Would you like to add some context?"

"Context? The polls! How bad will your poll numbers affect your presidential run?"

"Preside-… Russell, I told you I wasn't running."

"It could have been worse," Nadine told him.

"And?" He asked holding his arms out in exasperation looking around the room while the Secretary eyed her Chief of Staff suspiciously, "Can it be fixed?"

"With a couple of big wins, she should regain the points in the polls," Jay interjected ignoring the incredulous look the Secretary was throwing his way, "As long as everything goes smoothly with the Girls in STEM conference and the education reforms we've been fighting for in Afghanistan, things should be back to where they were. Of course, they'll bring it back up in attack ads and debates, but it should be manageable."

Her eyes narrowed at him, "Et tu, Jay?"

Russell didn't let him answer, "And what's the likelihood of that?"

"Pardon?" Jay answered sending an apologetic look to his boss.

Russell closed his eyes in frustration, "Of everything running smoothly."

"The conference shouldn't be an issue. The keynote and speakers have been booked," he trailed off.

"And the Education reforms?" He asked.

Jay hesitated.

"No, don't say it. They're not going back on the reforms," Elizabeth jumped in.

"They're asking for more concessions," he confirmed.

"More concessions?"

"I'm working on it, ma'am. It seems like they're just posturing, but if they're not… We may have a problem."

"In more than just the polls," she mumbled.

"Fix it," Russell said turning toward the door, "And keep me updated."

"I'm not running," Elizabeth called after him eyeing her policy advisor and chief of staff.

"Sure you aren't," he answered as he walked out the door.

/*/*/*/

Henry sat staring at the three faces on the suspect board. Russell Jackson sent the case to them earlier that morning and suddenly he had faces and names to go with the threat his wife talked about the night before.

The briefing with his team went well he thought. They had a surprising amount to go on considering the suspects.

Michael Burvur, former Special Forces tasked with destabilizing unfavorable governments. One mission left him with a scar across his forehead and a dishonorable discharge. Apparently, he didn't play well with others. Currently, working freelance as a fixer for the darker side of politics. They tied him to a number of other smear campaigns for at least three different countries with borderline illegal tactics.

Mindy Batch, former CIA. Worked Bagdad while Elizabeth was unofficially stationed there. Her credentials were used to pull the leaked file.

Brenden Ferthers, conman extraordinaire with ties to multiple international capers. He never left enough evidence for an arrest. Apparently, he met Michael shortly after his dishonorable discharge, and they were inseparable ever since.

The team was tasked with finding them and ensuring that any information they gathered that posed a threat to National Security was secured.

Henry and his team knew everything about the leakers down to where they went to high school, everything except where they were. The last person to see them had been the conspiracy blogger, and he already gave them everything he had.

There was a whisper of a safe house that Dylan was tracking down. With any luck, he'd find something, and they'd have a place to start. There were also the rumors of ties to a Senator that they were looking into. Senators were a pain to work with, but this would be low even for one of them.

Until then, all Henry could do was stare at the board and think.

/*/*/*/

The shutter clicked as Michael stole a couple of pictures of their target. He smiled as he thought of the things he'd captured through his lens. If cameras could talk, his would have some stories.

Zooming in, he took a look at the target's destination. It was the same coffee shop she went to every day… at the same time. Someone really should have taught her to be less predictable. Especially, considering who her mother was.

He shook his head at her complacency. People needed to learn that there were wolves in the world, and he was about to give Stephanie McCord a very real lesson.

/*/*/*/

Stevie glanced at her watch as she grabbed her coffee from the barista. Perfect timing, any longer and she would have been late, and she really didn't feel like starting the day off with an angry Russell Jackson.

She stepped off to the side and took her first sip. It was perfect as usual. The warmth of the drink spread through her releasing some pent up stress. She smiled into her cup. It was going to be a good day.

Wrestling through the usual morning crowd, she made her way out of the coffee shop and started the short trek back to the office. She didn't know what she would do without her daily coffee runs. It was stressful enough working in the White House much less for Russell, and the short walk gave her time to clear her head and prepare for the day.

Approaching the crosswalk, she balked at the number of people waiting for the signal. There was some kind of construction blocking the sidewalk forcing everyone into a single file line. Glancing at her watch, she could almost feel the minutes ticking away.

The traffic on her left continued to streak by as everyone tried to cross the street as quickly as possible. She made it just before the signal turned.

It really was her lucky day, she thought smiling.

Two hands shot out of the parked car next to her, grabbing hard and holding fast pulling her in as the car squealed into traffic. It happened too fast for her to react leaving behind only a coffee cup splattered across the ground and the irrational thought that Russell was going to kill her.

/*/*/*/


	2. Episode 2

** A/N:** Thank you, everyone, for your support! I never realized how addictive reviews were. This is my first fic, and I must say, writing for such a great community is incredibly motivating. Thank you for reading, and if you've added to the growing collection we have for Madam Secretary, thank you for writing!

**Now, without further ado,**

**Episode ****2****:**

Russell strode past his secretary's desk, focusing on his latest text from the Secretary of Agriculture, something about green beans. "Adele, cancel my lunch for today and get me some time with the President. We're going to need to discuss his vegetable preferences for the upcoming Farmer's Dinner appearance. Stevie, put together a list of the attendees and their crop specialties."

He was a few steps into his office when he paused. Something was off. He backtracked a few steps as he finished reading the text, skipping to the next one. He looked up. A desk sat empty. "Adele, where's Stevie?"

She shook her head with a sigh. "Probably at the Girls in STEM conference helping State like you requested."

He stared at the wall trying to remember. "Right… Wasn't she supposed to come here first?"

Adele's shrugged, not looking away from her computer. He shook the thought away and entered his office. There were more important things to worry about than a flighty intern.

/*/*/*/

The conference hall buzzed with excitement as stalls were erected and technology displayed. Jay stood with the keynote speaker, Cassidy Carpenter, as she did a final soundcheck. The supermodel turned code enthusiast, or was that code enthusiast turned supermodel, tapped the microphone with a primly manicured finger.

"When I was a kid," she started the first few lines of her speech, "my dad and I would play a game. I would imagine the most outlandish thing I could think of, a robot that dispensed flowers, or a TV that could respond to questions, and we would try to build it. It was one of the most important lessons I've ever learned. Innovation begins with imagination."

The sound guy gave a thumbs up from the last row of chairs.

"Perfect," Jay told her, "Madam Secretary will announce you, you'll do the keynote and release the children into the wild." He eyed a virtual reality stand and made a note to visit it before the end of the day. "Any questions for me before the event starts?"

"No, I think I have it. Thank you, Jay. I know how much time you've put into organizing everything."

"Well, it wasn't only me." Jay smiled self-deprecating. "They just keep me around for the policy."

"Still, without events like these to encourage girls to embrace STEM, the gender gap in the industry would continue to grow. It's important work and both Code for Girls and I thank you."

Jay blushed. He started to answer when Nadine's voice saved him.

"Jay, the first wave of Senators has arrived."

"Right, thanks, Nadine." He turned back to Cassidy. "I have to go, but if you need anything, just grab someone, and they'll come get me. You're going to be great."

He started down the side of the stage to the sound of her quick, thanks Jay, meeting Nadine at the bottom. "Senator Hanson is with the first group, right? I'm hoping to pull him aside about adding an extra million to the next Afghan aid package. I'm hearing he may be the vote we need in the Foreign Relations Committee."

"They're still giving you trouble over the education reforms?"

"Among other things… I'm hoping adding a bit more to their Security Force Fund will help sweeten the pot."

"And you think an extra million tacked onto a $4.4 billion fund will accomplish that?"

He took her skepticism in stride. It was expected. "One of the generals wants to replace his division's body armor, but they're stonewalling him. I think if I can get him the funds,"

"He'll support the reforms, balancing out the hardliners' protests."

Jay nodded as they made their way through the stalls. A remote control car drove itself around a track to his left while volunteers set up a slime station to his right, a quick and dirty chemistry display. He couldn't wait until Chloe was old enough to attend.

"It's a good idea, but if you need Senator Hanson, you'll need to step out for the meeting. His office called earlier, and he's overbooked for today."

"You mean, he would rather play golf while Senator Riggs is in town than come to a conference encouraging education for the youth of the world."

"That, too."

Jay sighed, eyeing the contingent of Senators that decided to show up. Eight-thirty in the morning and his schedule was already a mess. "I'll find some time to swing by at lunch. Thanks, Nadine." She squeezed his arm in support before veering off to prep the Secretary for the keynote introduction.

"Gentlemen," he said grabbing the Senators' attention, happy to see Morejon among them. He was one of the few from his party to RSVP. Hanson was another. "Thank you for coming. We'll start with a short tour and end with a quick policy review of the Dalton Administration's bill to increase funding for STEM-centered education reform around the world and, more importantly for the members of this committee, here at home."

/*/*/*/

Secretary McCord stood to the side of the stage and watched as girls, chosen by educators and standardized test scores, from around the world filed out to explore the hundreds of stands volunteers spent the morning perfecting. Jay was off with his second group of U.S. congressmen of the morning trying to rally support around their new policy initiative and exchange program, and Daisy and Matt were putting the finishing touches on her remarks for the Women in STEM panel at the end of the day. Finally, she'd have a chance to show off how cool Mathematics were.

"Great job," she told Ms. Carpenter as she made her way off the stage.

"Thank you Madam Secretary. I can't believe how many countries are participating. This will be a huge help for the international expansion of Code for Girls."

"It was my pleasure. My staff and I try to pull out all the stops for a good cause." Elizabeth smiled at the supermodel. "I must say, my girls are huge fans. In fact, one of them should be wandering around here by now. Don't be surprised if she pops up and asks for an autograph at some point."

Ms. Carpenter laughed. "I'm looking forward to meeting her as well as seeing your panel this afternoon."

Elizabeth reached out and shook her hand, "Any excuse to geek out about Math. I'll see you there."

She broke away and joined Nadine and Blake across the room. With a grateful smile, she accepted the pastry and coffee in her assistant's hand. "Thank you, Blake. Have either of you seen Stevie? I can't believe she missed this." She took her first bite of the bear claw savoring the glaze.

"I haven't seen her, Ma'am," Nadine said with a frown.

"Russell may be keeping her," Blake added, "I heard he ran into some trouble with the Farmer's Dinner this week after someone commented that the President didn't like green beans. He probably asked her to stick around a little longer."

"Hm," she hummed through the pastry, swallowing, "As long as she gets to come to at least some of the event. Allison can still make it for the panel, right?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Mr. McCord confirmed it with the school and will pick her up after lunch."

"Great." She smiled into her coffee. "And Jay, how's he doing?"

"As well as to be expected." Nadine supplied and began to fill her in on their funding estimates based off of Jay's meetings.

/*/*/*/

Mary Jacobs roamed the isles of the STEM conference shadowed by two of her classmates. Jessica was from a year above her, and they hadn't met before the trip to D.C. Lilly, on the other hand, just entered fifth grade like her. She was a striker on the school's soccer team and sat at Billy Jennings table at lunch.

How Mary dreamed of sitting at that table during lunch. The girls did each other's nails and hair. Everyone was almost always laughing. It seemed like paradise compared to her table in the corner with nothing but her homework for company.

"Whoa, check it out!" Lilly veered off to one of the stands. The volunteer was dissecting the chemicals found in popular nail polish brands. "I just bought a bottle of that in Star-crossed Sunset last week."

They watched amazed as the scientist explained the process occurring as it dried. If she'd know chemicals could help her make nail polish, she would have paid more attention to Mr. Mather's class last year. She wondered if Mr. Duncan would help her try it when they got back to school.

The next stall they visited had an astronaut. Like, a _real_ astronaut. Not those dumb fake ones from her brother's video games that he was always talking about. She had pictures from the international space station and everything!

"I have to tell Julia when we get back. She's going to freak," Lilly said after seeing a picture of Mars taken from something called the Hubble Telescope.

"Really, she likes space?" Mary asked. Julia always seemed more into tracking her calories to make weight for dance lessons than something like space.

"Ooooh yeah," Lilly laughed, "She swears she's going to be the first person to land on Mars. I think it's just so she can eat whatever she wants without her mom looking over her shoulder."

The next stand was, by far, Mary's favorite, virtual reality. She put on the goggles her brother had been begging her parents for all year and finally saw the appeal. Her world disappeared. In its place was a forest. The sounds of crickets chirped in her ears, the flow of a nearby creek accompanying them.

She focussed on one of the trees and transported below it. On its branch, sat her favorite animal in the world, a black panther. Facts started to surround it. Some she knew, some she didn't. She saw an option to view its anatomy and focused on it. She stood transfixed as she viewed her favorite animal layer by layer. By the end, she knew everything from what it ate to how it climbed trees so easily. When it was time to give someone else a turn with the goggles, she was sorry to see them go. She made a vow to help her brother the next time he brought them up with her parents.

Mary wasn't sure what she was going to do when she was older, but she definitely knew what she was going to do next week. Lilly and Jessica agreed to meet at the park after school to try to make some homemade nail polish. Lilly even said she would try to bring Julia. It may not be lunch with Billy Jennings, but it was close enough.

/*/*/*/

Lunch rolled around quickly for Jay. Then again, it wasn't surprising considering his jam-packed morning of congressmen and ambassadors. There weren't enough hours in the day to convince a room full of politicians to agree on anything.

He slumped back in the golf cart as the caddy drove him to Senator Hanson's current green, making a note to actually pick up food on his way back to the conference. Jay almost groaned when he thought of the next group of ambassadors on his schedule. They would be almost as tough as the Senator. The caddy pulled to a stop.

"Wait, are you sure this is right?" Jay asked.

"Yes, sir. This was the group he was with."

"Senator Hanson, you're sure."

"Yes, sir," the caddy said. If Jay had cared, he would have noted the barely suppressed eye roll. Instead, he stepped out of the golf cart after waiting for the current golfer to finish his swing.

"Hi," he called and the small group turned to look at him, "I heard Senator Hanson was golfing with you earlier, and I was hoping to catch him. Do you know where he might be?"

A man to the left shuffled. Jay thought he recognized him from one of the lobbying firms, but couldn't be sure. "You just missed him. He got a call and left during the last hole, sounded like his wife might be sick. He kept asking if she was OK."

Great, a family emergency meant he was out of chances for the day, and he was meeting with the Afghan Minister next week. He needed to get the funding off the ground soon if he wanted to use it in the next negotiation. Jay took a breath and reminded himself to hope Senator Hanson's wife was alright.

"Thanks, I'll let you get back to your game." They nodded as he headed back to the cart already focusing on his next meeting.

/*/*/*/

The bag over her head was muggy. With each breath, the air grew more humid. Her wrists itched where she was tied to the arms of a chair. Stevie lost track of how long she'd been there, but she was already tired of it. The ride there couldn't have been more than thirty minutes. Once she realized what was happening, and forced away a minor freak out by the sheer force of will, she fell back to the morbid talks her parents gave her and her siblings periodically.

Apparently, working for the CIA made a person paranoid. Her mom made a point to give them all a list of things to pay attention to if they were ever kidnapped, how long they spent in a car, how many people were involved, physical traits, and landmarks. They even had a family code if the kidnappers made a ransom video. At the time Stevie thought it was all a bit overboard. Now, breathing the same bag-filtered air for who knew how long, she couldn't be happier with her paranoid, plan-every-possible-scenario parents.

A bang to her right made her jump. So far, the kidnappers had left her alone. As much as she wanted the bag off of her head, she hoped it stayed that way.

Muffled voices drifted to her spot on the chair. "She's fine. We stuffed her in the other room." Stevie dubbed the voice Mr. Gruff. She wasn't positive, but she thought it was the same person driving the car when they grabbed her. She heard a door creak open.

"See, resting comfortably," the voice rang clearly. Their footsteps clicked as they came closer. She flinched back into her chair, feeling their presence looming.

Mr. Gruff's companion let out a non-committal hum. She bit her lip to keep quiet. They were closer than she thought. An odd combination of crayon and aftershave hit her nose as one of them shifted.

"We need some time to scrub the trail before we send the video. It should be done by the end of the day." Whoever Mr. Gruff was talking to stayed silent. Stevie gripped the arms of the chair. She could feel their eyes on her.

Finally, she heard their footsteps retreat. She let out a relieved breath when she heard the door click shut, a tear tracking down her cheek. The ropes attaching her to the chair chaffed her wrists. She wanted to go home.

/*/*/*/

"Ma'am, we have a situation." Elizabeth heard Daisy behind her as she tried another combination on the puzzle box in front of her. The girl next to her let out an excited squeak when it popped open.

She shot her a quick smile and handed it over. "Your turn." She winked. Turning to Daisy, she took a few steps away from the crowd. "What happened?"

"DoD just informed us of the arrest of Russian national Igor Smirnov for espionage. It'll hit by the next news cycle. Best case scenario, they'll send the Foreign Minister to negotiate for his release."

"And worst case, they'll grab a visiting US citizen to trade."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Great," Elizabeth checked the time, "Minister Avdonin was scheduled for Jay's group at one, right? Do you think he's been informed yet?"

"If he hasn't been, he will be soon."

"Secretary McCord," the voice came from behind her.

"I guess that's a yes," she said low enough for Daisy to hear before turning to greet Minister Avdonin, "Minister, good to see you. I'm happy to see you could make it."

"Yes, it is quite the event. One that I was hoping to enjoy if not for your country's baseless arrest of a Russian citizen." She was happy to note his lowered voice around the students. Still, a few turned to look their way.

"I'm not sure baseless would be the word I'd use. It's certainly something we can discuss further in my office after this afternoon's panel, if you have the time."

"For this, I will make time." He took a step forward aware of the nearby crowd. "We want Mr. Smirnov back, Madam Secretary."

He stared down at her, a cross between professional intimidation and a check to see if she understood. She left her mask in place, not giving anything away until she learned more about the situation. "Daisy, will you let Blake know when he gets back from lunch to add the Minister to my schedule?"

"Yes, ma'am."

With a short nod, he turned back to the conference hall, wading into the crowd. Elizabeth let out a breath. She wasn't looking forward to their next meeting.

/*/*/*/

Jay lay in an undignified heap on the couch lining one of the walls in the breakout room he'd been using all day. It was done. He let out a laugh.

"Jay," Madam Secretary's voice surprised him to his feet. "You OK?"

"Uh," he took a second to pat his hair down, his disorientation turning into a smile as he stared at the Secretary, Nadine, and Blake, "It's done."

"It's done?" She repeated. He nodded.

"Funding from Congress was secured, and every country from the UN general assembly agreed. The exchange program will kick-off next year on International Day of Women and Girls in Science."

The Secretary's face broke into a smile big enough to fill the room. "Jay, that's great! Did anyone give you a hard time?"

Internally, he grimaced thinking about some of the conversations he had earlier that day. Outwardly, he gave a small self-deprecating shrug. "Morejon made me work a bit for the funding, but he came around before having to skip out for his kid's field trip, and Minister Avdonin seemed a little preoccupied."

"But he still agreed?"

"Yeah, after a little cajoling."

"Good work, Jay." Nadine smiled from behind the Secretary.

"Thank you." He took a second to enjoy the success as Matt burst into the room.

"I have it," he said holding up a few looseleaf papers as he rushed to the Secretary's side. "They should be the same as the copy you used for the review except for the education reform bit. I just sharpened the language a little, gave it some flare."

"Some flare?" She looked skeptical as she accepted the rewrite.

"Well yeah," the smug look on Matt's face didn't change despite the smidge of doubt crinkling his eyes.

"Hm," she hummed as she looked over the changes, "Thanks, Matt."

"Ma'am, they need you on stage in five minutes." Blake interrupted. She nodded not looking up from her papers and headed for the door.

The moment she left Matt turned to Jay. "Was that a good hm or a bad hm?" Jay shook his head with a smirk. "Nadine?" She smiled and turned toward the door. "Guys?" He trailed behind as they made their way over to watch the panel.

/*/*/*/

Allison watched as her mother made the final remarks for the panel. She and her dad were among the first to their feet applauding the five exceptional speakers. "I still can't believe she used the design calculations I gave her. She almost had me wanting to major in Math," she leaned over to tell her dad.

"That's your, Mom." Allison watched as a proud smile lit his face. "Knowing her, that was probably the goal."

"Psh, yeah right." She scoffed as they made their way through the crowd, trying to reach where her mother's staff was gathered at the side of the stage. "Have you seen Stevie? I thought she was supposed to watch the panel with us."

She was hoping to use her sister as a buffer between her and her mom. Things were still weird after the torture revelation, and she wanted the backup.

"She was. Maybe Nadine has her working something in the background."

"Noodle!" Her mom's voice rang as she left the stage to join them. Allison hesitated a beat before leaning into the familiar hug. Stevie was right. Despite her past, she was still Mom. "So have I converted you, yet? Math really is a fun major, promise."

Allison shot her dad a surprised look. He sent a knowing smile back. "Tempting." She mirrored her dad's face. "But I think I'll stick to fashion. Like you said, I'll have plenty of Math to occupy me in design."

"Is that what I said?" Her mom asked pulling back to look at them. "Hm, I see I have my work cut out for me. I'll turn you, just wait."

"I don't know, babe." Her dad put a hand on her shoulder giving it a soft squeeze, his smile plastered in place. "She seems pretty determined."

"Oh fine," she dragged the words out before turning back to Allison, "Thanks for the material, by the way. Absolutely brilliant." She played it cool, but her heart grew about three sizes. The warmth of her mom's pride feeding her confidence.

"Has anyone seen Stevie?" Her mom asked looking up to scan the room.

"No, Ma'am, she never arrived," Nadine answered. A spike of confusion hit Allison. Stevie hadn't shut up about Cassidy Carpenter all week, not that she was much better. She figured she'd head to the conference center first thing for an autograph.

"Really?" Her mom sounded as surprised as her. "Surely, Russell wouldn't keep her all day."

Her parents exchanged a look, two parts exasperation, one part annoyance, and a dash of worry. "I'm heading to the office now for a meeting. I'll swing by the White House first and see if I can sweet-talk him into letting her come over."

Her dad's hand squeezed her shoulder again. "We'll be here. Tell Russell he should come, too. It might help him relax a bit."

"Or scare the kids," Daisy added under her breath. Allison bit back a chuckle.

/*/*/*/

"Hey Adele," Elizabeth smiled at the secretary, "Is Russell in?"

Without looking up from her paperwork, she pointed at the office door with her pen. "Mmhm, go on in."

"Thank-," Russell's muffled voice blasted through the closed door, "you."

"He's in a mood."

"Yeah, I'm getting that." Sparing one last glance at Adele she forged on into his office.

"-comment on what the president likes or doesn't like, what do you say?" Russell yelled as he loomed over someone barely old enough to be an intern.

"No comment?" The kid squeaked.

"No comment!" He glared. His eyes darted to her as she entered before returning to the latest person to make his hit list. "Now, go. I have more important things to worry about than some offended soybean farmers."

"Uh, green bean, sir."

His glare turned deadly. "Get. Out."

"Yes, sir." The kid fled.

Russell sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. "Interns," he said making his way behind his desk, "People say they're supposed to make our lives easier." He shook his head. "Speaking of, I hope you enjoyed the presence of your wayward daughter at the conference. One of the few capable people around here, and I had to lend her out today of all days."

"You mean she's not here?"

Russell stared at her like she was missing an arm. She shifted. Stare downs from the most powerful ministers of state? No problem. A stare down from Russell Jackson? She wanted to run for the hills, CIA training or not.

"Does it look like she is? Would I be the one yelling at some no-name intern over vegetables if she were?"

"Good point." She looked down, rocking back on her heels. If Stevie wasn't at the conference, and she wasn't in the office… Where was she?

"Is Harrison in town?"

She looked up. "What?"

"It's just the last time he was in town they started sneaking around together, right? The tabloids had no shortage of photos to prove it."

Elizabeth balked on Stevie's behalf. "And she skipped work and ignored her responsibilities too, did she?"

He raised his hands in defense. "I'm just saying it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibilities."

She glared.

"Okay," he conceded, "Maybe it's not Harrison. Look, I'll let you know if I hear from her, but as you can see-,"

"She's not here. Yeah, Russell, I got it, thanks." She swept out of his office glancing at the time as she went. Minister Avdonin would be waiting in her office by now. Maybe, Blake could track her down. She would have an explanation, a cabby with a flat tire or a series of Metro cancellations… that took all day… Elizabeth shook her head. She'd have an explanation.

/*/*/*/

"Minister Avdonin, thank you for the change in venue. I thought our conversation would be more productive where we could speak freely." Elizabeth steadied her voice, adopting her professional-with-leverage tone as she entered her office handing her scarf and coat to a trailing Blake. Her worry for Stevie was safely compartmentalized, at least, as much as possible. She was still banking on Blake's ability to find her before the meeting was over.

"Not at all, Madam Secretary. I assure you Mr. Smirnov is of utmost importance to President Salnikov."

"I'm sure he is." She paused at the coffee station, letting the bitter smell ground her as she poured. The facts Nadine supplied on the ride over were beyond incriminating for the Russian. "Blueprints and vulnerabilities of our newly updated power grid would be very important, I imagine." She turned, walking to stand behind her desk letting the coffee warm her hands. She wondered if Stevie got a chance to grab her latte that morning.

"A completely unsubstantiated accusation-,"

"He had the plans in his pocket-,"

"You were in the CIA. You know how easy it would be to slip them into his pocket."

"He used his alias' ID to make the copies."

"Do you know any Russian operatives that would make a mistake like that?"

Elizabeth stared at him across her desk. It was a flimsy argument, and he knew it. Then again, they didn't give him much to work with.

"Minister Avdonin, Mr. Smirnov committed a crime on U.S. soil. He will stand trial in our courts, he will serve time in our prisons, and any intelligence he gathered during his crime will stay in our custody. Do I make myself clear?"

His face hardened. It reminded her of Stevie's face when she was two and just learned the word 'no'. She wondered if Blake was having any luck.

"Madam Secretary, you are aware, we have ways of getting our citizens back when unfairly accused of espionage. I would hate for any US citizens to suffer a similar fate."

"Is that a threat?"

"No." He sighed. "I certainly hope it doesn't come to that."

They stared at each other. Elizabeth took a sip of her coffee, gauging his sincerity. Smirnov was an exceptional spy, placed in the early 2000s and able to keep his cover until a week ago. They would want him back, but with his cover blown, would they risk an international incident by grabbing someone from the U.S.?

"Ma'am," Blake interrupted her thought. Strange, he knew how strained the meeting with the minister would be, he wouldn't interrupt unless… She took in his loosened tie, out of character for Blake on the most casual of days, and the slightly frantic crinkles lining his eyes… Stevie.

She was out of her chair with a muttered excuse me faster than she could process. "What is it, Blake?"

He held the door for her, closing it behind them. The minister could wait. He led her into one of their conference rooms. Nadine was waiting for them. Whatever he found was serious, if he involved her Chief of Staff. Her breath hitched. She forced it to even.

"We just received an encrypted communication, Ma'am. It's..." Elizabeth watched Nadine's face fall, her usual mask of professionalism slipping. "Ma'am, you may want to sit down."

She did, her nerves fraying. Nadine placed a laptop in front of her open to a video player. Stevie stared back, arms tied to a chair, imposing figures standing guard on each side with their heads hidden just off frame. Elizabeth bit her lip as fear surged. She would _not_ have a panic attack. Her baby girl needed her, and she would stay calm.

Fear clouded Stevie's face, and for a second, Elizabeth was staring at Abdol Javani. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take a deep breath, in for a count of three, out for a count of three. Stevie was the priority. Focus on Stevie. She made herself look at the screen again. Her hand shook as she pressed play.

"My name is," Stevie cleared her throat, "Stephanie McCord. I am the, uh, daughter of Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord." Her voice rang clearly, the lilt and pace of someone reading a script. She glanced off-screen to her right before looking back and continuing. "My mother is a spy. She is responsible for the incarceration and, uh, torture of countless prisoners. She used her influence to infiltrate the Presidential Cabinet and gain control of U.S. foreign policy. She is not fit to, uh, lead, and if she does not recuse herself from the presidential race within one week, her daughter will," Stevie paused. Elizabeth watched as her eyes widened. When she started again her voice shook, "her daughter will enjoy the same comforts as a prisoner under Elizabeth McCord's care."

The video ran long enough for Elizabeth to watch her daughter worry her bottom lip before the frame dropped to a concrete floor and froze. Her world spiraled. Sound buzzed in her ears, chatter and gunfire. Terrified eyes, a sudden blast, they threatened to drown her. Stevie… Stevie needed her. She would _not_ panic.

Slowly, she made a fist, concentrating as she flexed it. Her breathing slowed. She repeated the motion with her other hand. Control, she was in control.

"Blake, give Minister Avdonin my apologies and escort him out," she ordered without looking away from the screen. "Nadine, get this over to Ephraim. Tell him she's roughly thirty minutes from the point of abduction and there are at least three known assailants. Tell him that the room where she's being held has an exit to St-..." She clenched her jaw against the wobble in her voice. "Stevie's right."

"Yes, ma'am." Their response came in tandem before they jumped to do her bidding. Her mind latched onto their synchronization and wouldn't let go. Odd, what the mind focused on during a crisis. The sound of gunfire and Fred Cole's dying breaths filled the room. She would _not_ panic.

She picked up her phone to call Henry.

/*/*/*/


	3. Episode 3

**AN:** Hello my wonderful readers! Terribly sorry for the delay, the holidays ran away with me it seems. To everyone who caught the nod to West Wing in the last chapter, cookies for all!

To everyone who reviewed, thanks a million. Truly, you are the best and brightest at your craft.

**Now, if you all agree, I believe it's finally time for:**

**Episode 3**

Henry hit play for the hundredth time. He hadn't noticed when the others in the office left or when the sun had set leaving him in the dark. There wasn't time to worry about things like switching on lights. His time was better spent searching because there had to be something, a small sound or image hidden in some unseen corner, that would tell him where she was. That was how it worked right? A camera zoomed in to the thousandth degree, displayed the exact clue needed to find the bad guys, and the protagonist would take off his aviators to spout some corny pun. His eyes scanned his dark office, the light of his monitor assisting in his search. He needed a pair of aviators.

Stevie spoke from the computer screen, three words then a throat clear. She was under thirty minutes away. The first time he watched it, a proud tear escaped as she gave them as much information as she could. None of the assailants passed on screen. None of them made a sound. Only a small rustling of paper after enhancing the audio gave any indication someone else was in the room. Only Stevie's subtle 'uh's' told them there were at least three others with her.

He watched as she glanced to her right. If there were other exits, she would have glanced at them, too. One way in, one way out, they had to be professionals. Everything was too planned, even their trail had been scrubbed, surveillance cameras wiped at random throughout the city. The only evidence that she'd been taken at all was a lone soggy coffee cup disintegrating along the road by her daily cafe, Stevie written in red marker still barely visible.

Henry restarted the video, light from the monitor reflecting off his face. He'd watch one more time then go home, just one more. There had to be something.

* * *

Elizabeth sat at the kitchen table, the kids long since retreating to their bedrooms, neither one able to meet her eye. She wanted to be the one to tell them, her and Henry, but like most things, it hit the news cycle faster than her motorcade could move. Whoever was attacking her wanted the world to know.

She wondered if there was a trending hashtag yet. Daisy would probably give her the list if she asked. Bile gathered in the back of her throat. She flexed a hand. Stevie's voice rang, "enjoy the same comforts as a prisoner under Elizabeth McCord's care."

A prisoner under her care never had many comforts. According to the papers, they enjoyed even fewer. Elizabeth clenched her teeth. Sara Amari.

_"Ms. Amari… Sara, our intelligence shows that you care about those children," Elizabeth watched as her subject fidgeted across the table, eyes firmly glued to the metal cuffing her hands, "You don't want them to die."_

_ The subject muttered an automated response, "M__ay Allah protect them, I cannot__."_

_ "__Yes, you can," she answered in Arabic before the translator could finish, "And I can protect you."_

Elizbeth's stomach twisted. She couldn't. Just like she couldn't protect Stevie, and the world thought it was her fault. She flexed her other hand.

Henry was working on it. He would find something, and she would be waiting for him at their kitchen table when he did.

* * *

Alison sat at the lunch table picking at her food as Piper prattled on about how unfair it was that Jason received a whole week of suspension. At first, she was surprised at the company. Usually, she spent the lunch hour with her friends, but they'd been conspicuously absent today, subtly acting like they didn't hear her call them over and finding a table across the cafeteria. Piper was a surprise, but a comfort, even if all she could talk about was her brother.

Her morning was tense. Her father hadn't come home, and she was almost positive her mother hadn't slept. She didn't look like she'd moved from the spot at the table that they'd left her at the night before. Alison and Jason exchanged a look before making breakfast and forcing her to eat at least a few bites.

She'd begged and pleaded until her mom allowed her to go to school, anything to get out of her house even if it was with five additional guards. School was what kids like her did every day. It wasn't a kidnapped sister or a sleepless night. Normal, that was what she wanted, and with a look she saved for special occasions, her mother allowed it.

She was right. It was normal, overwhelmingly normal. She went to homeroom, then math, then English. The teachers took roll, asked questions, and assigned homework, all with a considerable effort to not look in her direction. Alison couldn't tell if she was grateful, annoyed, or a kind word away from a breakdown.

Piper's monologue grew louder, something about the fascists running the school overreacting to a perfectly reasonable response. It was a kind act even as it drew Alison's attention to the reason. Another voice spoke behind her, one Piper was doing everything she could to drown out.

"You think they'll wait the whole week?"

"No way, have you seen the oldest McCord?" Alison heard the second speaker snap a finger, "Talk about hot."

She tensed, ready to fight, ready to cry. How dare they talk about Stevie? Piper's voice dipped and flowed as she tried to talk louder about some kind of crisis in a country Alison had heard her mom mention once, Somethingstan.

"What does that have to do with anything?" the first voice asked.

"Dude, it was in the news. That Sara Amari chick, McCord had her ra-,"

Whatever he thought _Secretary_ McCord had done was never finished. Alison's chocolate milk happened to slip out of her hand in the speaker's direction before he could finish his sentence. Later when the lunch monitor questioned her and Piper, neither could quite explain how it happened. Alison was tense all day and there must have been a noise because she jumped splashing her milk everywhere and didn't know why. Of course, she was sorry she ruined his expensive name-brand polo, but it was an accident. She would definitely be more careful in the future.

Piper walked her to her next class. She was sure to tell Jason how lucky he was to have her when she got home.

* * *

"This is torture," Stevie groaned at the masked man sitting across from her. By her count, she'd been there three days, and it seemed her captures were as bored as her. After the adrenaline eased, her life became a series of naps tied to a chair, bathroom breaks, and surprisingly delicious sandwiches.

On the second day, she had the horrible idea to ask what the man wearing the Nixon mask was putting on them. The other two groaned as Tricky Dicky, as he requested to be called, launched into a tirade about mass-produced mustard and how you could only produce a quality taste by mixing it yourself.

Silently, she agreed as she took another bite making a vow to never let him know. The next day, from shear boredom, she told him. He laughed and asked if she liked board games and thus began her torture.

Chess… Of all the board games in all the world, he had to choose chess. She hated it. Jason, as an anarchist hated to play by the rules. He would always change the way pieces were supposed to move, a rook would move as a knight, a knight as a queen, and so on, stating that they needed to break their molds, and Alison had to have a magazine close by to even look at a board. When she learned to play, it was from her mom and uncle Will. They couldn't stop trying to best each other and by the end, her ten-year-old self was trying to differentiate between a Queen's Gambit and a Sicilian Defense, and only because those were the only two names she could remember. Chess was not her idea of a good time.

Apparently, Tricky Dicky thought otherwise as he took her King for the tenth time. "Oh, come on Mini-McCord. All you need is a little practice," he said as he reset the board, "We'll make a Champ out of you yet."

The woman in the corner scoffed. Stevie forced herself not to react. She didn't want to look that way, didn't want to see the rubber mask of her mother staring back.

"We could always switch to my idea of a good time," the woman wearing her mother's face suggested. Stevie tensed. It was a familiar argument, one Tricky Dicky won every time. She dreaded the time he wouldn't. Two more days was her guess.

"Would you leave the kid alone? I'm trying to teach her an important game here," Tricky Dick complained. His tone lilted, unconcerned even as his movements became precise, controlled. Something in Stevie screamed danger as she tried to melt into her chair.

"She's not a kid," the woman growled between clenched teeth, "Not much older than Amari, in fact."

Tricky Dicky froze. Stevie felt his eyes on her as she kept hers on the chessboard. "She's not Amari," he said, "And nothing is going to happen to her, understand?"

Silence answered him. Stevie refused to look away from the chessboard.

"Take a walk."

"But-," the woman tried to protest.

"Take. A. Walk."

A second passed, an eternity. The woman wearing her mother's face stormed out of the room.

"Now," Tricky Dicky continued as if nothing happened, "You should use the Sicilian Defense when..."

Stevie stared at the board and suppressed a groan. She would give anything to listen to her mom and Uncle Will fight over chess moves again.

* * *

Jay poked his head into Nadine's office. "Got a minute?"

She looked up with glassy eyes born from lack of sleep and worry. Her hunched shoulders straightened as she transformed from overworked exhaustion to his boss in seconds. "Of course, Jay, what do you have?"

"Just an idea," he said taking a few steps into her office and closing the door. It wasn't that he didn't trust the staff, but he didn't want what he had to say floated around town either. "Or maybe a concern."

He watched Nadine's brows furrow. "It's just-,"

The door swung open, Mike B. and Gordon storming in. "Three days, it's been three days, Nadine," Mike complained as Gordon trotted over to sit at his boss's side. "Does she have a plan? Do any of you have a plan?"

Jay inched over to ensure the door shut again. He spied a couple of interns slowing their pace to peer in and sent them scurrying off with a glare.

"Of course, there's a plan, Mike," Nadine answered sounding put upon.

"Does the Secretary know?" Mike shot them a knowing look as Nadine hesitated.

"Matt and Daisy are working on it."

"And by it you mean a speech for every possible outcome, right?"

"Yes, Mike, we'll have our bases covered. Although, why I have to convince you is beyond me."

"Fine," he sounded petulant to Jay, his gaze periodically dipping to Gordon. He looked like a kid who's best friend decided to invite someone else to the party, exasperated and jealous. "You know there's only one way this ends well for her?"

Nadine pursed her lips in warning while Jay glared at the back of Mike's head. They'd all seen the polls, the ones saying the Secretary's only chance at the presidency was with a dead daughter and rash of good luck. "With Stevie safely returned, I'm sure."

Mike's face turned incredulous a protest on his lips. Something in Nadine's look must have registered because he stopped before he began. "Right," he said deflating a bit.

"Actually, that's kind of what I wanted to talk about," Jay jumped in.

Nadine turned to him, surprise warring with indignation in her eyes. He hurried to clarify, "Not the… Of course, the best way for this to end is with Stevie safe and at home, but what about the Education Reform?"

"What about it?" She asked, her voice tight. Jay didn't like the proud smile Mike was shooting him.

"It was supposed to be a big win for the Secretary and with Deputy Secretary Cushing filling in, if it were to be finalized now..." He let the sentence trail off hoping she would get there on her own. Mike B. even turned to look at her expectantly.

"Yes?" She urged through narrow eyes.

Jay grit his teeth. He didn't like it any more than she did, but someone needed to make sure the Secretary still had options after everything was over. "Look, I've stalled as long as I can, but I have an idea that may push us over the finish line before she comes back. Cushing would get the credit, but we won't get another chance."

"Don't do it," Mike B. said at the same time as Nadine's, "Do it."

They glared at each other. "What?" Mike asked unfazed by her outrage, "So we miss a chance at one of Jay's ideas. You don't even know if it's a good one, and he'll come up with another when she gets back. It's his job."

Nadine's glare never left Mike. "Jay, there are children who need an education. They shouldn't have to wait for the politics to align." She turned to look at him. "Whatever your idea is, do it."

"Right away, Ma'am," he said nodding and heading out the door, leaving her and Mike B. to settle their differences alone.

* * *

_Elizabeth watched the monitor as Amari was shoved into her cell. _

_ "You better be right about this," Colonel Johnson's disapproving voice came from behind her._

_ "I am," she said, eyes glued to the screen._

_Seconds passed and the cell door clanked open, another prisoner falling through. "Are you all right?" Amari asked her, helping the newcomer to her feet. Hair clung to her face, water dripping from its tips. She let out a racking cough that blended with the slight buzzing from the monitor._

_ The newcomer nodded. Elizabeth tried to get a read on her face, but the figure kept it tilted out of view. Of course, she knew about the camera. __She helped set it up._

_ "They want to know where the children are." Amari's Arabic echoed off the cell walls._

_ "You know we can't tell them."_

_ "We can't let them die. Everything that happened, everything we did, it had to have been for something. We can't let them die."_

_ "Come on," Elizabeth urged the figure hunched on the monitor._

_ "I married him to find you. I did. That's something."_

_ The silence stretched as Amari studied the ground. __Her shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. Elizabeth could have snapped a picture and posted it in the CIA body language handbook under Guilt and Shame._

_ "I thought h__e would keep me safe__," Amari mumbled avoiding the other's glare, "Father thought h__e would keep me safe__, and after you ran off to America..." she shifted her gaze to glare at the other woman __and let the sentence trail. "__We have a chance to save them. We have to take it."_

_ "Sara, these agents, I know them, they can't protect us, not from him. __I didn't transfer home just to lose you__," the other voice nearly pleaded._

_ "__I know the safe houses. I'm going to tell them whether you do or not." Amari's posture straightened. Elizabeth watched her jaw flex as she ground her teeth. "Who is he sending to bomb the school?"_

_ The women glared at each other. The second sighed, dropping to sit __on the single threadbare cot revealing her face for the first time. Mindy formerly Amari A.K.A. Batch shifted her gaze to the camera. She gave a name._

_ Elizabeth grabbed the list of students off the desk and scanned. There. "Got ya."_

_ She gave Colonel Johnson a look that sent him out the door to alert the checkpoints._

Elizabeth stared at the picture dangling from Henry's whiteboard. She came, lunch in hand, to ensure he ate. It became routine, although she wasn't sure something four days old could rightly be considered routine. Aly and Jason fixed her breakfast, all without meeting her eye, Aly left for school with an extra seven guards, two so well concealed even she didn't know about them, and Jason switched on his latest video game. Elizabeth would find something to keep her hands busy until lunch when she would take Henry some food and subtly ask for progress.

Stevie told them, three suspects. By motive and opportunity, they narrowed it down to the same three suspects responsible for her recent dance through the media, one too familiar to be a coincidence. "She was her sister."

"What?" Henry looked up from his sandwich, a crumb tumbling down onto Michael Burver's financial records. His accounts were emptied a week prior with only one credit card charge in the last month, the day of the abduction at Stevie's cafe. He was taunting them.

"Sara Amari," Elizabeth turned to look at him, "She was Mindy's sister. I promised to protect them."

"Babe, it wasn't your fault."

"No," she said turning back to stare at the picture of her old colleague. The echoes of chatter and gunfire sparked sweat on her palms, "It wasn't, but it is now."

* * *

Mindy stared at the McCord brat from the confines of a sticky, rubber hell. She had half a mind to pull the mask off and escape the muggy, chemical air that filled it every time she was on watch. She'd have to kill the kid, of course, but no real loss there. The only thing that stayed her hand was the look of utter disgust, fear, and twinge of betrayal that crossed the girl's face every time she looked at her.

The door swung open and Brenden bounded down the stairs whistling what he constantly declared as a "jaunty tune." She rolled her eyes, no doubt that it would go unnoticed. It was the same with or without the mask. Brenden and Michael were a unit without time or care for anyone else. The only reason she joined their little venture was for the target. Her eyes settled back on the kid.

"We're almost out of the good stuff," he told the girl, loosening the rope enough that she could grab her sandwich, "Dalton should be back with more seeds soon, and I'll have another batch whipped up before you head home."

Brenden and his stupid mustard, he was treating the hostage more like a houseguest than a captive. Mindy ground her teeth. Only two days left before she could get her revenge. Whether the Secretary made her speech or not, she had plans for the brat. She'd know what her mother was capable of, how the water tastes sweet before it suffocates, how it licks away the heat before it freezes.

The door swung open again, another set of shoes pounding down to greet them. "They didn't have the one kind you wanted so I just grabbed what they had," Michael's gruff voice came muffled from behind his President Dalton mask. He held a bag of weeds out to Tricky Dicky.

With skepticism etched in every move, Brenden grabbed the bag. "You sure they didn't have it?" He asked as he stared at the wilting greens and browning yellows. She could hear the sneer in his voice, had seen it often enough to imagine Nixon's rubber lips twisting in disdain.

"I'm sure." Michael's biting tone was softened as he mussed Brenden's hair with affection. It stuck up, glistening with hair product, behind his mask.

Grumbling, Brenden crossed to the small table sporting a chess set, a luxury she protested until she saw how much the brat hated it. The small slump of the girl's shoulders and drain on her face seemed to fly right over Brenden's head.

He spread the, loosely deemed, plants across the board lifting one for inspection. He hemmed and hawed, or the aristocratic equivalent, as he smashed petals under his nail, testing for whatever it was he tested for. She didn't care. Finally, he lifted a bit of residue to his lips, spitting it out immediately.

"What are you trying to do kill us?" He complained. A well-cultured whine was still a whine.

Micheal leaned against the wall, shrugging, "It was all they had."

"No." Brenden shoved the plants back into the organic farmer's latest attempt at a compostable bag. "I don't believe it. I'll go out tomorrow and get it."

Michael shrugged again, his body language screaming amused. Sometimes Mindy hated her CIA training. She didn't care what his body language screamed. She didn't care what Michael and Brenden thought or what they wanted. Their plan was to return the brat no matter what. The Secretary's bid for the presidency would be ruined either way as long as the girl was returned alive. They'd stolen the polls to prove it in case the client suggested otherwise, not that he would. What a pansy. She didn't care about that either.

Only two more days. Mindy lost a sister. McCord was going to lose a daughter.

* * *

One day, Jay couldn't believe he couldn't get the Afghan minister to wait one more day. The Secretary was set to make her speech the next day, renouncing her presidential bid and hopefully taking her seat back from Deputy Cushing. He needed one more day and she would get the credit.

It seemed the Afghan minister knew it, too. He refused to budge on the meeting date. It was now or never, may Jay forever hold his peace.

"Minister, good to see you," he stood to take the man's hand.

"You too, Jay. I hear you have some funding for one of my generals."

It would be straight to the point then. Jay allowed a resigned smile to touch his lips. "I do. Well, Russia does."

"Oh?" The minister urged.

Jay ignored it. After a conference call with the FBI, CIA, NSA, and a few other initials he wasn't even allowed to think about outside of the call, it was the US intelligence community's impression that Mr. Smirnov, without the blueprints to the power grids, was ineffectual at best. The company was compartmentalized enough that he never saw all of the details and it was agreed that from the time he stole the plans to the point he was arrested, there wasn't enough time for him to review, much less, memorize them. Russia would receive Mr. Smirnov. An Afghan general would receive his funds.

Minister Avdonin did the political equivalent of jumping at the chance. After a light negotiation and two cups of coffee, he and Jay shook hands parting on satisfied terms. Jay knew Avdonin didn't want to cause an international incident any more than the next minister, and his plan allowed him to avoid the awkward position of having an innocent American in his prison.

"Yes," Jay pulled out the agreement. "If you'll just review the terms here and here, we'll be ready to join Deputy Secretary Cushing at the signing ceremony."

It went off without a hitch. Everyone shook hands, Daisy corralled the press, and a new education reform agreement was signed into reality. Even as Jay applauded, the sweet taste of a job well done tasted more like the sickly effects of a deep-fried Twinkie than the subtle appreciation of well-made chocolate.

* * *

"This chocolate is amazing," Elizabeth said as she took another bite. It wasn't. At least, not to her, but Blake was trying, and it was enough to make her try, too. How was he supposed to know everything she ate held the sweet metallic tang of bullets or the stale freshness of Fred Cole's last breath? Better to go through the motions and give credit to Blake's attempt.

"The Belgians sent it," he said half-heartedly. Apparently, her act wasn't fooling him. He held the door for her as she entered the conference room. Daisy and Matt stood ready with the latest speech in hand, Nadine hovering like a concerned nanny. It was her last prep session before the press conference. They had three hours.

She sat, pulling the latest draft closer. "Remind me again, why we waited seven days before doing this." She couldn't keep the slight edge from her voice. Her staff shuffled silently.

"The FBI requested more time to investigate ma'am," Nadine answered, "Not to mention, the time it takes to organize a press conference of this sca-,"

"Not to mention, the off-chance that my daughter turned up safe or dead," she barely stumbled over the word, "and we wouldn't have to stop preparing for the presidency, right?" She bit out. It wasn't fair, and she knew it. Nadine looked wounded. Jay looked like he'd be sick. Almost immediately, she regretted it. Softer, she added, "I wasn't even running."

"No ma'am," Nadine said, "But this is where we are. We're going to bring Stevie home."

Elizabeth gathered herself. She took a breath, chatter and gunshots ringing in her ears. Her staff was working out the details. Henry was doing his best to find their daughter. It was her turn to do something. She picked up the speech and started to read.

* * *

Michael sat in the car, drumming his fingers on the wheel. Once Brenden finished his shopping, they would need to go and fast. Things wouldn't take long after that, unlike the amount of time needed to pick out ingredients apparently.

"Come on, Brenden." He tapped out an impatient rhythm, reaching up to adjust the mirror. A patrol car sat behind him. He checked to make sure its owner was enjoying a cup of coffee in the run-down diner across the street. It was.

Next door a chic overpriced cafe that tried a little too hard at cozy sat with a line out the door. He shook his head. Since meeting Brenden, similar areas had become a constant, up-and-coming neighborhoods, too new to eradicate all of the undesirables, but still hip enough to have organic groceries and restaurants with expensive foreign food. Apparently it was the perfect balance before a place became _trendy_. Based on Brenden's tone when he said it, no worse insult could be given.

The car door opened. Brenden fell with coordinated ease into the seat, before snapping it shut. "You were right," he said tucking a bag of healthy green and yellow plants into a specially made cooler. Michael started the car, and pulled out, the patrol car and its owner none the wiser. "They didn't have it."

"Really?" Michael smirked. "Then what were those monstrosities you tucked away?"

"Well, they didn't have it in the store." Michael quirked an eyebrow. The first time he met Brenden, the at-the-time-teenager was in the process of talking his way out of grand theft auto charges and into a new car. A quick request from Michael for a ride, at the time, being chased down the street by the latest dictator he managed to piss off and a squad of his finest from a nearly trained army, and they'd been inseparable ever since.

It wasn't that Michael didn't work well with other people. It was that he didn't work well with ineffective people, and Brenden was anything if not effective. "So the owner let me pick a few from the garden out back, and gave me a discount for the trouble."

"Kind of her." Michael's smirk grew. "Did you use the card?"

"Of course."

Michael pulled onto the interstate, pointing the car toward the airport. Maybe, he'd take them to Eastern Europe. It would have a few neighborhoods on the right side of not trendy.

"Batch is still with the kid, right? Do you think she'll let her keep the mustard?"

Michael shot him a look, trying to mask his amusement.

"Right, didn't think so, and I stayed up all night to make it." Brenden let out a long-suffering sigh.

* * *

Stevie listened to the woman wearing her mom's face across the room. She still couldn't bring herself to look at her voluntarily. There was a bump, a scrape, then a smash. Stevie forced herself to look up.

"Oops," the woman said, her voice muffled and insincere. She stood over a broken jar, brownish-yellow goop spreading across the concrete. "I guess Brenden should have put it in a better container."

Stevie's eyes narrowed. That jar was hers. He may have abducted her, but his mustard was delicious, and Tricky Di-.

Brenden. Her mouth opened. Her eyes widened. The woman told her one of their names.

"Well, I guess this isn't necessary anymore." Stevie watched in horror as she pulled off her mask, immediately trying to avert her eyes. "Now, now, no need for that. As much fun as it was watching you squirm under your mother's mask, I want you to see my face for what comes next."

Stevie's throat went dry. Her hands clenched around sudden sweat. "And what comes next?" She asked trying to keep her voice steady.

A gleaming smile, and a water hose were her only answer.

* * *

The alert pinged in Henry's inbox, snapping him out of a finance induced haze that only a math major could enjoy. Next time he would let Elizabeth handle the-… Next time. His heart froze. There better never be a next time.

With more force than necessary he banged the spacebar on his keyboard to wake the monitor. It took him two tries to put his password in before it unlocked and he was looking at his email. He blinked. He blinked again.

"Jose," he shouted, grabbing his coat and running out his office door, "I've got something." The credit card usage alert email glared down at a shell company's real estate records within thirty minutes of the abduction site. The store on the receipt, Spices and Things, had an address within a block of one of the buildings. The screensaver kicked on.

* * *

_Mindy tensed as the guard shoved her forward. __Lunch took an unusually long, and she was anxious to see her sister. __She wondered if they would ever let them go._

_ Technically, they weren'__t prisoners anymore. Technically, they were there for their own protection. Technically, they were still staying in their cell with escorts rather than guards._

_ The _guard_ shoved her again. She refused to think of them as anything other than what they were. Her cell came into view. Bars and blood, she froze. Another shove pushed her forward._

_ "Sara?" She rushed the last few steps to look inside stumbling at the sight. "Sara."_

_ She grabbed the bars, sliding to her knees. Her sister's blood__ staining her hands on the way down._

_ "He wanted me to do you, too." the guard's voice barely punctured the red haze filling her head, her heart, her soul. "I thought you would be more useful to __the cause__ alive. __Your husband sends his regards.__"_

_ "Did __he__?" she muttered, finally tearing her eyes away from her sister's mangled body. __McCord's protection wasn't worth the paper it was written on. __The man guarding them… her… wore a standard-issue Glock and no fewer than three knives. __It seemed her husband had his own spies. __She'd clocked him the first day. Knowing all of her exits was a part of the training._

_ She gave him a quick death, a knife to the throat, not having enough time to draw it out. Her escape was calculated, quiet. No one raised an alarm until she was well on her way headed for parts unknown. _

_ Sitting in a car heading toward a bungalow on the east end of the latest village, she stared at a set of pictures. The first was of the guard, an "X" scratched over his head, the next, her husband, then her sister's husband. She stopped on the last. _

_ Elizabeth McCord stared up from the page, the paper's gloss covering her face in a protective finish, a lie. __An "X" would cross through it just as easily as the others. __It wasn't her fault yet. M__indy's__ eyes flicked up to the headshot of her husband before returning to her coworke__r. Not yet, but it would be._

* * *

Stevie gasped as the rag lifted off of her head. It felt like a lifetime before air finally hit her lungs, the sweet taste of success fleeing as a hacking cough racked her body. Water dripped from her hair down her cheek, and she flinched, the coughs coming to a stuttering end. She was ready to boycott water forever.

Her lungs stole another breath before the rag was back. She stifled a groan, flashing back to a previous time when she didn't and wasted precious air. Wet pressure beat at her face, soaking her skin and hair chilling both. Her teeth would have chattered if they hadn't been gritted in the grim determination survival ignites.

She held her breath. Her lungs burned, begging for her to at least try. She knew from experience it would only make it worse. She held it, and she held it, and she held it… until she couldn't anymore.

Her lungs forced a gasp, but nothing came. There was a sound, maybe a crash or a pound. Nothing mattered but the air she couldn't reach, and the wet pressure that kept it from her. Her lungs tried another futile gasp as her eyes began to tunnel.

There was another crash, and suddenly the wet pressure was replaced by a set of hands wrapped around her throat. She gave an oxygen-deprived buck, trying to knock the rag clinging to her face off, trying to knock the owner of the hands around her throat off. Stevie didn't care as long as she could breathe.

_Bang._

The pressure dropped. She whipped her head back and forth trying to dislodge the cloth. It was ripped away, and her lungs were finally rewarded for a gasp. Then they punished her with a coughing attack. She bent over the chair emptying the contents of her stomach on the floor. The woman responsible for the past hour lay dead at her feet, a single gunshot to the head.

A hand rubbed her back, and she flinched. If it was Tricky Dicky with his mustard and chess games, she was going to hit someone. She flexed her hand and paused. When did they untie her?

She gave one last weak cough before turning to face the latest nightmare.

"Dad?" She deflated. He stared at her. No he was saying something. What was he saying?

"-sorry. We should have been here sooner," he finished taking her hand in his, her _free_ hand. She stared at the rope burns peppering her arm.

"Daddy?" She asked again, afraid she'd passed out and all of it was a glorious, if not cruel, dream.

"It's me, Stevie." He reached up to slide a strand of hair out of her face before pulling her into his arms. She melted into him, the chill of the room sliding away as a relieved tear gathered in the corner of her eye. "I've got you."

She let it fall.

* * *

"They got her," Blake rushed into the conference room, his tie undone and hair mussed. Elizabeth's head snapped up.

"Wha-?" She started to ask.

"They got her," Blake repeated, holding his phone out, "Henry just called."

She let out a breath, she hadn't known she was holding, and grabbed the phone. The others stared, shooting her hopeful looks.

"I've got her," Were the first words out of Henry's mouth.

"Is she-?"

"She's OK. A bit oxygen-deprived, but the paramedics say there won't be any permanent damage."

"Oxygen deprived?" She asked, her voice turning to ice, "What happened?"

He explained. He explained how he found their baby, how the woman responsible would never hurt anyone again, and how now it was her turn to make sure the world became a safer place. She preened under his faith in her. Having a partner completely and utterly supportive made the impossible look possible.

"Give 'em hell, Babe," He told her before returning to Stevie's side. She wished she could be there, too.

She turned to her staff. "It looks like we're going with Draft S."

Everyone sagged with relief sharing small, telling smiles. Matt reached into his stack of speeches and pulled one out. She couldn't help but think that he really was prepared for everything.

Throwing her current draft aside she took the one he offered and began to reread it. They had thirty minutes.

* * *

Elizabeth stared at the… What was the correct term for a congregation of reporters? Murder, no that was crows. Buzzard seemed right, but she doubted it. Chum was even more likely due to their frenzied nature. She settled on battery. Elizabeth stared at the battery of journalists and prepared for battle.

She imagined their questions, pointed, inappropriate, meant to drag a reaction from her. Chatter and gunfire echoed in the back of her mind. No, she looked back over the crowd examining each face. She knew most of them. They were professionals, every one. Daisy did well.

Elizabeth McCord took the stage, the reflecting pool framing her as the Washington monument spouted up behind. The crowd hushed.

"Acts of terror, whether abroad or homegrown, continue to be a plague on our house. Acts of terror spurred by our feuds, by our actions. I know better than most, how actions of the past can spread to torment the future." She gripped the pedestal, taking a moment to reread the words she'd memorized. "They demanded I recuse myself from a race I never intended to join. They stole my daughter to ensure it." She looked up.

"Today, I stand before you to tell you acts of terror must be prevented, and if not prevented, overcome. I'm happy to announce that members of an elite squad of agents recovered my daughter earlier this morning. She's currently safe with family. We overcame. Now, it is time to prevent, and it is clear to me there is only one logical path to success.

"Earlier today, I turned in my resignation to President Dalton, and he accepted. I'm here to announce my candidacy for the Presidency of the United States.

"I'll take questions."

The crowd erupted, questions flung at her like rams at a barricade. In the days to come, it would become a new normal.


	4. Episode 4

**A/N: **I just want to give a shout out to all of the amazing individuals out there that followed, favorited, and/or reviewed this story. The time you took to write out a comment, big or small, meant more than I can say. Thanks for reading!

**Episode 4**

Stevie sat, staring at the tap as it ran. The sound of running water cut through her, sweat spreading across her palms. She narrowed her eyes.

It cut off. She looked up, surprised. Jason tried to hide the worry creeping across his face, "It's bad to leave the water running," he said in the all-knowing, morally superior tone he used when he went off on rants, "Piper says that for every minute the tap is left running another acre of the rainforest dies."

"Really?" She let her tone carry her eye-roll. "And here I thought it was deforestation, but by all means, let Piper feed you easily repeatable rhetoric."

"Hey, leave Piper out of it. She's just trying to get people to use less water," Aly jumped in displaying her newfound protectiveness for Jason's girlfriend. Stevie wondered when that started. "I think we can all agree that's a worthy goal."

"Sure," Stevie bit out. She wasn't even sure why she was arguing. Her anger seemed freer lately. Irritability, her doctor called it. "A worthy goal when you use facts to back it up."

She watched Aly and Jason share a knowing look which only proved to infuriate her more. She flexed her hand and took a breath, a trick her mother taught her shortly after the… well after. It reminded her that her mom was off at some campaign in Iowa instead of at home with them, with her. She clenched her teeth, jamming a clammy palm into the pressure building behind her right eye.

"Can you guys handle the dishes? I'm just gonna-." She was already halfway up the stairs, brushing past her dad on the way.

By the time her dad's voice echoed through the hallway asking her sibling what happened, she was snapping her door closed. She rested her head on the wood, trying to remember to breathe. The sound of rushing water filled her ears.

* * *

The senator sat glaring at the television screen, the last words of Elizabeth McCord's campaign speech ringing through the room. She was in Iowa, and where was he? He pounded a hand into the table.

It was regrettable what happened to the girl. They ensured him she wouldn't be harmed. Then again, they ensured him McCord wouldn't run. He ground his teeth, his eye catching the hand-drawn picture he had framed sitting on his desk, a child's rendition of him standing in front of the White House. The words, Next U.S. President, scrawled across the top in crayon with the slow precision of an unpracticed hand.

He squashed the urge to throw it across the room. Another rash action that he would regret later wasn't what he needed. Instead, he picked it up, tracing his thumb over the uneven lines that made up the building.

Mentally, he assured the child artist that he would make it there. He would be in the White House, if not in the way he imagined. The senator glanced back at the television screen. They had an election to win.

* * *

Nadine watched as Mike B. sat in the campaign bus flipping between Senator Hanson and Senator Riggs' speeches. She smothered a smile at his hurt look when Gordon abandoned his side for hers. From what she could tell, Jay was having a similar struggle near the coffee machine. Instead, she reached down to scratch the dog behind his ears.

"There, did you see that?" Mike said, jabbing a finger at the screen. At their blank looks, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Their hand gestures." His leading tone suggested his words should have held more meaning than they did.

"Are similar?" Jay asked, trading a baffled look with her. She shrugged. His guess was as good as hers.

"Yes," Mike exclaimed, turning to give Jay a proud smile. It melted when he realized his answer was a guess. "They're exactly the same," he explained as if talking to a small child, "Not only are they on point with their message, which would be a miracle with M'sec and her chosen running mate, seriously, how you let her talk you into that choice bewilders the mind-,"

"You were there, too." Jay mumbled.

Mike continued as if he hadn't heard, "But their speeches are freaking choreographed." He rewound the video keying up Riggs's bit about privatization.

The senator's voice rang through the bus, "Companies must be allowed to flourish. Only by allowing competition can our services, public or otherwise, grow to meet our expanding needs. Privatization is a key-."

Mike froze the frame, Riggs's mouth half-open with his eyes half-closed, his hand raised in a fist accentuating the word 'key'. He switched windows and played a similar piece of Hanson's speech. The words were different, but the message was the same, at the end, his fist rose as he emphasized that, 'Privatization is key'.

"See," Mike said as if revealing Atlantis was real and aliens ran it. They didn't.

"So," Nadine spoke up, "You want us to have them lift their fists to emphasize points."

He deflated, a look of utter defeat coloring his face. She was worried she might have broken him. "No, I _want_," he emphasized the word, "the presidential candidate and her running partner to give speeches with a somewhat coordinated message. _They_," he pointed to the screen, "are on the same page. _We_ are not."

Jay took a breath to rebut when the door squeaked open. "Hey folks, sorry to interrupt." Kat stuck her head in. They picked her up during their last trip to California. She'd let them use her avocado farm as a venue before the secretary talked her into joining them on the road. "Our Veep candidate has some concerns about the foreign policy speech for Friday. Jay, can I borrow you? I wanted to have you in on the meeting with Matt."

"See," Mike said like she just proved his point.

"Perhaps, he does make things a bit more… challenging," Nadine mediated. Mike raised his eyebrows at her understatement. "But he was the secretary's choice, and he said yes. The rest of us will just have to work with it."

Jay made his way over to Kat, grabbing the papers she offered and flipping through them.

"Fine, but when this blows up in our faces you can't say I didn't warn you," Mike pouted.

"Morejon as Vice president," Jay said, his attention already on the next task, "You weren't the only one." He followed Kat out to find Matt.

* * *

"Senator, it's nice to finally see you in person," Elizabeth said shaking Morejon's hand, "How long has it been?"

"Too long," he smiled back as the cameras flashed around them. Turning, he offered her the lead, a symbolic gesture her staff debated would play well in the press. In the end, they decided to try it. She honestly couldn't have cared less, and she assumed the public wouldn't either. Then again, what would a CIA agent trained to read people know?

They kept the act up until they were safely tucked inside the unused office they had booked for the day. Blake handed her a coffee as she walked through the door, and she could have hugged him. The schedule they'd been keeping for the past few months was rigorous, and she needed all the fuel she could get. Especially after seeing the shape of the discussion their staffs were having.

Jay, the man who kept his cool during the Iran negotiations, looked about two steps away from yelling. Mike B. already was. Although, she wasn't sure if it had more to do with the topic or that they refused to let Gordon into the building.

"We can't. We can't. We_ can't _come down on the program. Even Hanson and Riggs haven't-,"

"Yes, they have!" One of Morejon's staffers interjected. The glare she received would have frozen a flame. She barreled on anyway. "They want to privatize everything-,"

"Privatize with mandates and subsidies." Mike looked ready to throw a chair. Elizabeth scanned the room for Kat. The newest addition to her team was tucked away in a corner reading the latest Wall Street Journal possibly the calmest person there. Elizabeth bit back a smile. "They aren't cutting anything, because they _can't_ cut anything without losing five points in the polls."

"The polls are wrong," Morejon cut in. The room went silent. "If we come out against it, we'll steal some of Hanson and Riggs' undecideds by offsetting their concerns about our Foreign Policy initiatives."

"And push a fraction of our supporters back into Brecken and Santons' camp, hence the polls," Mike muttered under his breath. The room heard anyway.

"I understand it's a risk-."

"No," Elizabeth interrupted him. She could see the glare build behind his eyes. No one liked to be over-ruled in front of their staff, and their deal didn't lend her any veto powers. She would have to tread carefully. "I won't campaign to cut it. It's a good program that a fourth of the country uses." She held up a hand to cut off his protests. "Just like you won't campaign to keep it. Instead, we sidestep it. They ask the question, and we direct the answer toward privatization. Leave it until budget discussions after we win."

Mike perked up beside her. "Yes… yes, that should work. Their undecideds would have a similar alternative without the hardliners pulling them down." She caught him reaching a hand unbidden down to pat Gordon on the head, frowning at the absence. "We steal their voters and keep ours. Good idea."

"Thank you." They looked over to Morejon. He hesitated then nodded. She swallowed a sigh of relief.

"Good, then that means we can move on to our response for the President's latest international incident," Daisy announced tapping her tablet. Headlines jumped across the screen at the head of the table. A newspaper rustled in the back of the room before Kat took an open spot at the table passing binders out to everyone.

"The first thing we need to focus on is..." she started as everyone flipped to the first page.

* * *

Russell stormed into the room, head down, drafting a strongly worded text to the US ambassador in Iraq. The scandal was beyond embarrassing. He wouldn't be surprised if the President decided to transfer the man to an undesirable posting or fire him altogether. Either way, he wouldn't be staying in Baghdad.

"Adele, push my meetings a half hour for the morning," he said passing her desk without looking up. He should be focusing on the President's press conference to back Bess. Instead, he had to deal with this. "And get Ambassador Wendell on the phone… now."

He made it a few steps into his office before pausing. Reversing the same amount, he stared at the normally empty desk adjacent to Adele's. His mouth opened to say something before he snapped it closed. Whatever he said would require delicacy.

"Are you supposed to be here?" He asked bluntly.

"Are you complaining?" Stevie asked without looking up from her desk.

He hesitated. His mind flashed through the latest issues he had to focus on that morning. Shrugging, he decided there were more important things to worry about than an intern wanting to return to work early, like an ambassador displaying looted artifacts at an up-and-coming Iraqi artist event.

"Get me everything you can on the curator of Mesopotamian artifacts at The Iraq Museum." He didn't wait to see her nod before sweeping into his office.

A small smile played on his lips. It was nice to have an effective worker back in the office. He sat behind his desk and eyed the phone. His smile slipped. Sighing, he picked it up and attempted to convey the President's displeasure in the loudest terms possible.

* * *

Henry sat in their home office rifling through financial records. Technically, he was supposed to drop the case. They handed it over to NSA citing a conflict of interest months ago. That he continued smuggling records home was the worst kept secret on the team. No one had the heart to tell him to stop.

It helped that he kept finding actionable intel. Michael Burver received funds from the same account, once before his wife's scandal hit the media circuit, and another the day before Stevie went missing. Burver and Ferthers were in the wind and, based on the amounts they received, would most likely stay there. Whoever paid them wasn't, or at least wouldn't be soon if he had anything to do with it.

Something rustled in the kitchen. He checked his watch, 2:00 a.m. The kids had gone to bed hours ago. The sound carried through the room again. Someone must have wanted a midnight snack.

He turned back to the records, trying to track the payoff back to its source. His search lasted almost ten minutes before his stomach growled. Dinner had been a quickly nuked leftover box. He couldn't remember the contents, only that it left him wanting more.

Whoever was in the kitchen continued to send muted clanks and thumps out to him accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of a burger on the griddle. He tossed the record he was holding on the desk and gave in. Maybe he could mooch a couple of bites.

He walked through the dining room and through the doorway to find Stevie with a stack of plants laid out on the counter grinding something with a mortar and pestle. Bits of yellow dust streaked down her cheek as a burger sizzled in a pan. So focused on her task, she didn't notice as he entered.

"Does this mean I don't have to buy the vegan milk anymore?" He asked leaning on the doorframe. She jumped knocking the mortar into the pestle sending it into a dangerous spiral. He jumped forward and stopped it before it fell to the floor.

"Thanks," she muttered an embarrassed flush joining the yellow on her cheeks. He had the welcome memory of a two-year-old Stevie running to greet him at the front door covered in flour and maple syrup, an exasperated Elizabeth chasing after. The corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile.

Stevie cleared her throat. "Nope, still vegan," she said regaining her footing. Her face mirrored his. Elizabeth always said their expressions were carbon copies of each other.

He walked over to the stove raising an eyebrow. It looked like a burger. He sniffed. It smelled like a burger. "Then what's this, a cheat day?"

She laughed and his heart soared. It was a sound he hadn't heard enough of lately. "No, it's fake." He gave the clump of meat, he refused to think of it as anything else, another searching glance.

"No way."

She slid in front of him flipping the patty before adding a piece of vegan Swiss on top. His mouth watered. "Want me to make you one?"

In his experience, imitation food never lived up to the original. His years as a fighter pilot left him with an abundance of proof. MRE's did not a good meal make. After months of only one hot meal a day during his deployments, he always returned longing for real food.

He gave another sniff. Then again, if MRE's smelled like that, he might not have longed for anything… Other than Elizabeth and baby Stevie, of course. His stomach rumbled.

"Sure, I'll take one." She grabbed another patty from the refrigerator and slapped it into the pan before moving back to her grinding station. "What do you have going on over here?" He gestured toward the pestle.

She stared down at her work not meeting his eyes as she ground a bit harder. "I'm making mustard." He might have imagined it, but her light tone sounded a bit forced.

He glanced at the refrigerator. Were they out? No, he distinctly remembered buying some that week.

Preparing himself for another specialized condiment, next to mayonnaise and sour cream, he hesitated to ask. "Did mustard join the vegan list?"

"Hm?" Her eyes shot to his confused, momentarily forgetting she was trying to avoid them. She remembered dropping her gaze back to the pestle. "Oh, no. It's just better homemade."

"I didn't know you'd tried it before," he said buttering a couple of buns and dropping them on the skillet next to the burgers. "Did one of your friends have it or something?"

He knew a lot of the people in her circle liked to brag about making things from scratch. It all came down to the same motivation, processed food, bad, hard and time-consuming recipes, good. To him, it was only a couple of steps away from Jason's anarchy rants. Whatever kept the young engaged, he supposed.

"Something like that," she muttered, moving to flip his patty and add a piece of fake cheese.

"None for me please," he said sending a worried look at the back of her head.

She shrugged and left the cheese off. It never tasted quite right to him, leaving a distinctly un-Swiss imitation on his tongue. He hoped he didn't make a mistake asking for the burger. The fake meat usually outpriced the real stuff, and he'd hate to waste it. She flipped her burger onto one of the buns and set it on a plate before sliding back to the pestle.

Henry watched as her movements became stilted, forced. His eyes narrowed as she poured the powder and seeds into an awaiting bowl and whisked them into the awaiting liquid. It clumped together before it smoothed, an unrecognizable mess that worked to become itself with a little outside help. She was left with a brownish-yellow goop that she slathered across one of her buns.

His mind flashed back to the day he found her, struggling and gasping for air with Amari's hands around her throat and a water-soaked rag across her face. He stepped forward to take his burger and bun off the burner, trying to distract himself. It wasn't a memory he liked to relive. Regardless, it continued.

He shot Amari. Crossing the distance was a blank. One second, he pulled the trigger. The next, he was pulling the rag off of Stevie's face and rubbing her back as she emptied on her stomach on the floor. His eye caught a broken jar near Amari's body, a brownish-yellow goop spattered across the concrete.

Henry looked back at the mustard sitting innocently on their kitchen counter. It was a shade or two off, but it was the same. Stevie took a bite while he processed what he was seeing.

"Still not right," she muttered under her breath. His gaze snapped to her as she glared at her burger.

"Not right compared to what?" He choked out. She refused to answer.

"Stevie, why are you down here cooking so late?" He asked, his voice soft. They hadn't pushed her for details, thinking she would tell them when she was ready, if ever. Instead, they set up sessions with Elizabeth's therapist and hoped it was the right thing to do. Both had access to the report analyzing her statement but decided it would be a breach of her privacy to read it.

His heart clenched. Stevie pursed her lips before meeting his eyes.

"I had a nightmare," she said. He stayed quiet, hoping she'd fill the silence. "I don't even remember what happened just that I woke up craving his mustard."

"His?" Henry asked when it didn't sound like she would continue, his teeth clenched.

"Tricky Dicky," she said automatically. At his surprised look, she added, "Er, Brenden, I guess was his name. They wore masks." She looked down uncomfortable but continued, "He made my food. They were these sandwiches that were… amazing, and it's weird to think that, but they were." She rushed to explain. "And it was because he made his own mustard, so I thought if I could make it maybe… I could… It would… I don't know." She trailed off dejected tossing her burger back on its plate.

"You were trying to find the silver lining," he said knowing the feeling. She looked up, eyes shining with frustrated tears.

"I miss mom."

"I know kiddo." He dropped the burger and opened his arms. She melted into them gladly. "Me too."

* * *

"Hey, Babe," Henry said staring back at her from the computer screen. Elizabeth couldn't help but think how nice it would have been to have Skype when Henry was deployed during their early years. She smiled.

"I hope things aren't too crazy back home."

"Nope, the kitchen's only caught fire twice." He winked. She laughed.

"At least one fewer than if I were there. Nice." His smile shrank, looking forced. Her brow furrowed, "What is it?"

"Nothing, just… I found Stevie cooking a few weeks ago." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of the night," he added, "She was making her own mustard."

She blinked still at a loss. "Weird," she said dragging the word out.

"Ferthers made her food and put homemade mustard on the sandwiches," he clarified, his tone deadly.

"Oh." It felt like someone stole the air from the room. "Why didn't you tell me?" She asked her heart aching to be home, to hold Stevie in her arms and reassure herself that she was safe.

"I didn't want to distract you," he said, She glared. "You had the debate coming up, and you needed to focus. Stevie's fine, just… working through everything." His tone lightened. "She's doing better."

Elizabeth's gaze melted to hopeful. "She is?"

"She is," he confirmed, "Russell's sure happy to have her back, and I think she's enjoying having something to do. You know the gallery that will host the Iraqi artists' paintings after the ambassador's blunder?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Her idea." He beamed from the monitor.

"No." She smiled back.

"Yep, she can't wait for the opening. They were able to get a few world renown Iraqi painters and sculptors to come to the event to jumpstart the new artists, and I think she's fangirling a bit. One of them has a painting of a Gilgamesh interpretation that she hasn't stopped talking about since she found it."

Elizabeth relaxed into her chair, letting pride fill her face. "Well then, I'll have to thank her for giving me a great answer for the foreign relations question I got the other night."

"That's our girl." He leaned back, crossing his arms. She appreciated the way his muscles flexed wetting her lips. It really had been too long since she'd seen him last. "You did great, by the way. Hanson and Brecken were tough opponents."

"Thanks, it bumped us up to within five points of Hanson, or so I'm told." She rolled her eyes. Campaigning was the worst. While she fought and cajoled for every point she could get, real work, like smoothing things over with the Iraqis, happened without her. It was a lot of talk. She hoped she'd have a chance to follow through.

"How's the investigation going?" She asked trying to change the topic.

Henry's eyes tightened. "I followed the money trail..." He trailed off.

"And?" She urged.

"And it led to a discretionary fund… for Congress."

She froze. "You mean… the person who paid to smear me in the media, to _abduct_ our daughter, used Congressional funds to do it?"

He glanced down in anger clenching his teeth before meeting her eye. "Yes."

"Who?"

"I don't know yet," he said his shoulders drooping, "but I'll find out. The list of Senators with access is pretty short. Babe, Hanson and Riggs are both on it."

"Send me the list." He nodded.

* * *

"Carlos, can I borrow you for a moment?" Elizabeth asked controlling her tone. He looked up from the latest policy suggestions Jay and Kat were pitching. With a questioning glance, he stood and followed her to the campaign bus.

"We need the room," she said as they entered. Mike B., Nadine, and Gordon scurried out under the weight of her expression.

"What's going on?" He asked into the silence that followed. She handed him a piece of paper.

"Are you familiar with this fund?" She watched blood drain from his face as he read.

"Yes." The word nearly choked him. Good, he wouldn't lie about it. It almost made up for being on the list.

"I know the Senators associated are using it to pad their apartments and offices. I don't care about that, well, I care, but we can discuss your misdeeds later," she watched a bit of relief bring color to his cheeks. "You have access to the account. Do you have access to the records detailing which payments were requested, and who made them?"

He nodded.

"I need to know who made these two charges." She handed him the payment details. "Carlos, this is important. More so than a couple of couches bought from skimmed funds." She clenched a fist. "It's personal… Get me a name."

She watched him swallow. "Right." He nodded at her before turning to leave.

* * *

It was election night and everyone was on edge. Blake sat staring at the television screen with an obsessive persistence. She had to win. After everything she'd done, after everything everyone had done, there was no way they should lose.

The other candidates talked a lot and made shiny promises. The secretary was the only one who had actually accomplished something. Sitting in endless committees didn't count. He held his breath as another state's results came in… McCord. He cheered with the rest of the room.

From the corner of his eye he watched Daisy pace, tapping away on her tablet screen. Her steps faltered. His head snapped in her direction. Did something about the torture scandal pop back up in the media? Were they speculating about Stevie again? It was still early for the west coast. The media could still swing voters.

"What? What is it?" He relaxed when he saw her smile.

She laughed and turned the screen to the room. "I just ran across the Hanson camp's last-minute campaign push." A single image filled her screen highlighted in red, white. and blue. The words, Make Your Voice Heard, scrawled across the top with, Hanson Riggs Election, at the bottom.

Water sprayed from Matt's mouth as he read. Mike B. had a non-negotiable ban on the champaign until the final tallies were in. Coughing, he managed to gasp around his own laugh, "Unfortunate wording."

"Almost makes me wish it came from us." Kat smirked. Nadine shot her a stern look. "What I said almost." She shrugged.

Blake turned back to the television screen, refusing to miss anything. Two more states were in, one for McCord, one for Hanson. It was official, Brecken was out of the race. They cheered again and settled in for a long night.

* * *

Stevie sat with her siblings, eyes glued to the television screen. They flew out that day to watch the results with her mom, and celebrate when she won… Because she was going to win. Only two more states colored McCord purple, and they would call it.

Her eye caught Senator, soon to be Vice President, Morejon sitting at the corner table coloring with his son. They'd come to her mom's suite to watch, too. The idea was for him and her mom to walk out after the announcement and stand as a united front.

She watched as he stood walking over to her mom. "I'm sorry, I couldn't get the records." The soft words carried over to where she was sitting. "They seemed to have been… misplaced." He sounded regretful. Stevie wondered if it was for a new policy they wanted to enact in their first 100 days. She made a note to ask her mom about it.

"Don't worry, Carlos, we'll figure something out. Tonight let's just enjoy ourselves." She heard rather than saw the smile in her mom's voice.

Another state called for McCord. Aly grabbed her hand. Jason looked up from his phone, probably texting Piper about the futility of campaigns, and moved to the edge of his seat. They waited with bated breath.

The adults moved to join them, Morejon's son coloring with oblivious abandon in the corner. The senator crossed in front of her to join his wife leaving a nauseatingly familiar scent in his wake, crayon and aftershave. It hit her like a tidal wave.

She choked on the smell, forcing herself to breathe. Sweat made her hands clammy, the air tasted muggy, like the inside of a bag. Vaguely, from a distance, she thought she heard Aly ask if she was alright. Fight or flight kicked in. Instincts told her fight wasn't an option.

She mumbled a quiet, "Excuse me," before flying to the adjacent bedroom. Crossing the room, she put her back to the wall and slid down, curling into herself. It had been forever since her last episode. Stevie took a frustrated breath, trying to ignore the sound of rushing water.

It was probably a common aftershave. Tons of people use similar scents every day. Of course, he smelled like crayon. Good fathers colored with their sons. Having the combination didn't mean anything. It didn't.

Time passed, she wasn't sure how much, before the door to the room clicked open. From light-years away, she remembered the election hoping she didn't miss them announcing her mom as President. It wasn't her mom or dad like she expected.

Instead, Senator Morejon, stood towering over her. She tried not to, but the fear must have shown on her face. It wasn't his fault she was having a reaction to the way he smelled. He crouched down in front of her.

"You weren't supposed to get hurt."

Her blood froze. No, he couldn't be… He was her mom's running partner. Why would he try to sabotage her? Only… when she was taken, he wasn't. Stevie clenched her teeth around panic. Her parents were in the other room with his wife, his son. He wouldn't, couldn't try anything.

"My mom wasn't supposed to win either," she said, shoulders sinking as his face confirmed his guilt, "Crappy plan."

He shrugged. "It worked out in the end." He reached out a hand, she guessed to help her up. She glared at it. "What do you say we keep this little epiphany between us? After all, after tonight, your mom and I will have a country to run."

* * *

Fury.

Hell had nothing on her. Elizabeth listened from the doorway as a man she trusted, a man she talked into running for office on _her_ ticket, loomed over her daughter.

They were minutes from a final result when Morejon offered to check on Stevie. "She shouldn't miss this," he'd said, seconds before Elizabeth stood to find her. After the way he defended her during the campaign, avoiding leading questions and balking at speculations, she didn't see the harm in letting him check on her.

In the end, she changed her mind wanting to see for herself if she was all right. Which was how Elizabeth found herself in the doorway listening to him confess to her oldest's abduction.

"-your mom and I will have a country to run," he finished, knocking her out of her shock. Over her dead body. Elizabeth stalked over yanking him away from Stevie.

"Eliza-" She broke his nose.

Cheers rose from the living room, as he cradled his face. She guessed that made two government official noses she'd broken. Hopefully, it wouldn't become a habit.

"Looks like you won," Stevie mumbled from the floor, a proud glint in her eye, "Madam President."

* * *

_Epilogue_

Stevie set the lid on the pot and let it simmer with a sigh. Making ketchup was way more involved than mustard. Unable to find the right combination for Tric- Brenden's recipe, she decided to graduate on to something else.

Her first batch was perfect. For some reason, she could never seem to reproduce it. Still, she kept trying, carefully avoiding the White House chef. Chef Moekers hated when other people used the kitchen or when they ate unsanctioned food… or when they thought about food without permission. Stevie knew for a fact her dad had a stash of junk food hidden in her parents' room.

She stuck a finger in the second batch that day, a little too sweet. Her finger dipped into the first batch next, a little too salty. She gave a wistful smile to the simmering mixture on the stove. Here's to hoping the next batch was just right.

* * *

The store was small, the isles practically on top of each other, forcing shoppers to rub elbows as they passed. It wouldn't have been that bad, except every person there stared at Michael's scar. Normally, it was fun listening to Brenden come up with outrageous stories to explain how he got it, but like every other time they went to a too-small store with unbelievably narrow isles, he was whisked away to a backroom by the owner while Michael watched their exit.

Sometimes it was exhausting having Brenden around. He'd abandoned mustard and moved on to ketchup. Why they couldn't just buy it in a store like normal people, he'd never know.

"Finally," he said as he spotted the man coming toward him.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, I'm right here. Trust me, it'll be worth it." He smiled winking at a pretty coed that finally looked away from Michael's scar. Rolling his eyes, he shouldered his way to the front of the shop then out the door.

Taking a deep breath, he savored being outside. A salty breeze found its way to them, and he wondered if he could talk Brenden into going to the beach later. They might be able to catch a few good waves to make it worth it.

"Well, how about that," he heard Brenden mutter beside him. He turned in time to see the other man reach down and pick up a paper written in the local language from the ground. Secretary McCord took up half a page. "Looks like she won," he said smiling in Michael's direction.

"How about that," he replied putting on his sunglasses. Retirement was nice.

* * *

President of the United States of America Elizabeth McCord sat behind her desk on the eve of her first 100 days. It was a rocky start, to say the least. It was actually Senator Hanson that provided the records needed to send Morejon away. Amazingly, only the two payment records regarding his case were recovered.

Getting another Vice President approved through Congress took up a good chunk of their first two months. She was more than grateful that Russell decided to stay on. Between him and Mike B., the confirmation went ahead of schedule, a feat unheard of in politics.

"Madam President," Blake said walking into the room a contingent of fourth-graders following after, "May I present the contest winners from Mrs. Garfield's class?"

"Thank you, Blake." She beamed at the children, trying to compartmentalize the disturbing information her Joint Chief relayed to her in the meeting before. Jay and Kat would need to be apprised. It may affect their upcoming policy change. "Who here has been to the White House before?"

A smattering of hands shot up. "Well, because of your incredible essays, you'll get to see it like never before. Who's excited?"

"Meee!" They answered gamely. Nadine walked in.

"That's the attitude," Elizabeth encouraged, "Now, who can tell me the name of the first President of the United States?"

"George Washington!" The class answered in unison.

"That's right. You brought me a smart group, Blake, no wonder they all won." She spared a smile for her assistant. "Well, President Washington said, 'A primary object should be the education of our youth in the science of government.' Can anyone tell me what that means?"

The group quieted, shifting from foot to foot until a small girl in the front lifted a hand.

"Yes, what's your name?"

"Talia, ma'am," she said softly, "Does it mean he wanted young people, like us, to learn about the government?"

"That's exactly what it means," Elizabeth assured, "and that's why my good friend Ms. Tolliver is going to show you around today. You'll get to hear all about the important work she does as well as some of her staff.

"Then, maybe," She shot Talia a quick smile, "Someday, this will be your office."

* * *

El fin.

**A/N: **Just a quick note. I started writing this before Nadine left and Morejon went good. He was still the bad guy when I made him the mastermind. Unfortunately, now I like him and feel bad for writing as the villain, so to the fictional Morejon out there, "Terribly sorry, sir. I'm sure you made a wonderful Vice President."


End file.
